


Springtrap - Resurrection

by Noranum



Series: Springtrap [3]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, Original Work
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Gen, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Five Nights at Freddy's, Magic, No Sex, Paranormal, Prison, Therapy, Undeath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-06-12 04:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15331668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noranum/pseuds/Noranum
Summary: Resurrection - Part three of my Springtrap series that is not-at-all related to fnaf any more.Springtrap gets more used to the modern world, and his family. While at first, things seem rather tranquil, something dangerous stirs in the shadows of the old Fazbear franchise. He soon has to learn that he might be more than just a trapped ghost. And that he might not be the only one of his kind...Finally some plot, yeah. I hope to update this on a more regular basis. And I really hope this will turn out to be more interesting than the former two parts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Springtrap – Resurrection**

 

 

Five Nights at Freddy's, Freddy Fazbear Entertainment, Golden Freddy, Golden Bonnie, Spring Bonnie, Springtrap, William Afton and all other names and/or brands not listed here are property of Scott Cawthon.  
The plot this story is based on is property of Scott Cawthon.

 

This story is in no way meant to be considered official or canon.  
This story is not meant to glorify, induce or excuse violence, child abuse, rape, and murder, or their committees.  
This story is not based on real facts, locations, persons, enterprises, or events. Everything in here is to be considered made up. Also, it is has almost nothing to do with any game made by Scott Cawthon. Differences between this story and the actual plot of said games are part of the project.

 

**Please be aware that this story is placed in an alternate timeline that greatly differs from our world's history!**

 

I would like to thank GraWolfQuinn, Negaduck9, and Leda465 from DeviantArt for being sources of inspiration.

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**An army is meant to fight.**

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

 **13.09.2020 – Press any key to start** (Resurrection 1)

 

 

The wizard begun to chant a spell. It was long, complicated, and that meant it would hurt really bad. His enemy – a formidable warrior in shining armor – wasted not a single second. He raised his heavy shield adorned with a golden lion face, and charged straight forward. Right into an invisible rune trap the wizard had laid out earlier. That paralyzed the warrior long enough for the wizard to finish his chanting, blasting his opponent from the stage.

Game Over.

“When did you put the snare there.” wondered Shu, starring at the screen.

“You really think I know what I am doing here?” responded Springtrap, who was sporting an equally confused look.

“Don't tell me you used the snare-blast-tactic accidentally. What combination?”

“Random button smashing while trying to dodge.”

“Dude.”

Springtrap looked down at the controller in his hands, and the many different buttons.

“I don't like this game – too fast paced. Can't we go back to the one with the turns?”

“You really love that one, huh?” responded Shu with a sly grin.

“Of course! It has this badass granny who summons skeletons! And when you get too close she hits you with her crook! What not to love?!”

“Oki doki uncle...” she responded, switching back to the main menu of her gaming console, starting up the other game.

“Still fascinating how much stuff fits into this little thing.” said Springtrap while looking at the loading screen “Back in my time it was a cupboard. And would only play some 8-bit stuff.”

“Those are not necessarily bad. At least they have no skinny amazons with bouncing tiddies.”

“Yeah, cause they don't have any women at all.”

“Wait, wasn't there this thing with the screaming girl you had to save from some huge... what was it?”

“A gator. He vomited green stuff you had to jump over. And that girl had like, two seconds of screen time.”

“Right. That. A classic. Never played it.”

“Me neither. Just made sure it was in good shape.”

“Stop blocking me.”

“Well, stop throwing daggers at Mr. Wigglebones.”

“You _really_ gave them names?”

“Sure. Mr. Wigglebones is – hah dodged! - the one who can only take one hit. Lady Pain is the one throwing fire. And the big fella here...”

“Ouch!”

“... is Bob.”

“You really want me to use my potion early, huh? I hate tacticians. Why am I dead.”

“When you kill Mr. Wigglebones you're cursed for three rounds. Effects of items are reversed.”

“ _Dude_.”

“Next session?” asked Springtrap with a rather happy smile.

“Isn't the main thought of this sociotherapy you being out in the open with people?”

“You are a people.”

“Okay, but I promised mom to call her when the Council sitting is on.” and she switched to a TV program “But after that, I'll bury your granny under her minions' bones.”

“Respect your elders.”

“A huuuuge pile of bones. Just you wait!”

“Why, did you get cursed again?” asked Olivia, who just had entered the living room, and sat down next to Shu and Springtrap.

“Yep, she did.”

“Mom, he is _really_ good with Edna. Watch out or he'll push you of your throne.”

“I am a queen, dear.” responded Olivia, striking a royal pose “I am not pushed, I will gracefully retreat when my end is nigh, and leave the throne to whoever might be suitable to claim it.”

“Yeah, an ugly bone throne.”

“As long as it's your bones and not mine, I don't care.” added Springtrap with a grin, which granted him a hearty laugh from Olivia.

“I swear to whoeveritmayconcern I have to be adopted. Not the slightest related to you guys.”

The TV showed some symbol. It looked a little like a mandala, or geometric figure made of several circles. Nothing Springtrap would recognize.

“I'm like, super dumb. This is the world's government, right?”

“It someday hopefully will be, yes.” answered Olivia.

“Whooooa.” shouted Springtrap, his view glued to the screen “They hold their sittings in an aquadome?!”

“Oh, yes. This year, Great Polynesia is the host. Most nations in the pacific adopted Hawaii's approach in settling the ocean's floor.”

“Cool. So, what is this about?”

“Basically a summary of the last week's sittings.” explained Olivia “The Global Council tends to be rather active. Sorting out issues on a daily basis. They sponsor television shows and pod-casts, I like to keep updated.”

“There are quite many people in there.”

“Current number of heads is 1120. They get elected every seven years by all nations around the globe. Often it's former members of their parliaments, but this isn't a requirement.”

“Wow.” responded Springtrap, as he watched all those different people, their colors, shapes, and patterns, all that was surrounded by the glowing, blue Ocean.

“It is... hard to believe that this... could be possible. All nations you said?”

She nodded.

“Every single one.”

“And they... just sit there and talk about the world?”

“Mainly about how to make the world a better place.”

“They try, at least.” added Shu.

“Don't be salty, they are doing good work.”

“Oh yes, sure, except for those who need it the most.”

“You are still angry that president Davis blocked Project Gaia from evaluating the USA, right?”

“Mom. I am not 'angry'. I am furious. People starve. STARVE. People sell their bodies to make a living. Just... just next door to us.”

“And we try to help.” reminded Olivia her daughter.

“Drop of water on the hot stone.”

“I think you lost me halfway...” dared Springtrap to say “I mean... what is 'Project Gaia'?”

“An initiative brought to life to equal out the living conditions of humans all around the world.” explained Shu, still looking somewhat disgruntled “It was US who got this idea, and now OUR stupid moron of a president refuses to let them help OUR OWN people. Can you imagine this? World's been in the waiting to rebuild what that stupid bankruptcy ruined but some high-stakes think everything is fine because THEY have not to worry about their next meal.”

“Erm, and why's that?”

“Uncle, where have you _been_ the last- Oh. Wait.”

“You could say I had a wall between myself and the world for some years.”

Shu sighed.

“Sorry. This just... get's me all worked up. Mainly because I feel helpless, and those who could do something usually decide to not do. Not all tho. You know, first female president in history, Ludmilla Gardener. She was a smart women, she'd run a business before, had experience with both organizing and finances. She pulled the fucking cart out of the dirt. Then came some ugly bastard from far right, and dared to use the updraft from HER actions to re-establish some national pride. Really, Davis can suck my ovaries. Just two years ago, Project Gaia offered to evaluate nations in the first world to maybe help them. Davis refused, because big ol' murica ain't take no help from anyone. People went to the streets, protesting, but he didn't budge.”

“I see. Okay, I used to be lower class my whole life, but I can't remember that I starved.”

“Society split into two during the last twenty years or so. Governmental aid was always aimed at the middle class. People who had some cash spare moved it abroad, to dodge inflation. People who needed every single penny just to survive couldn't do that. And never recovered. It makes me so angry. My biological parents ran away from the war in China. Both died because of severe malnutrition shortly after we got here. At least that is what I'm told, I was two. If the Aftons hadn't picked me up as a toddler, I would've been dead. Or one of the millions stumbling from day to day. I always get to hear how much of a genius I am and such... There are so many people out there who will never get a chance to find out, just because some rich white dude decided that we are doing fine enough. Urgh. I need a drink. Be right back.” and she jumped up, heading to the kitchen.

“Wow. She really has some fire.”

“Indeed.” Olivia smiled “We try to help. I'm offering free counseling for people in need. All our children try to put some charity in their schedules.”

“That's nice.”

“But not enough. We are only able to do so much, without grinding ourselves to dust. It may seem selfish, but it would not help anyone if we burn out. To make it worse: many, far too many people lost their trust in both our government, and their fellow citizens, because they got overlooked again and again. That is the reason for this two-layered society. There is us, and those who ignore and get ignored. Oh. Fitting. See this lady there.”

Springtrap looked at the screen again. An elderly women just walked towards the lectern in the huge hall. She was probably from Europe, but the elaborated patterns of her finery was something he could not sort in.

“Lilo Derba. First female prime minister of Carthage, then she served three terms as one triumvir of the European Federation. I remember one of her most well known lines: 'Politics is not about parties, colors, and numbers. It's about people.' I certainly do not approve everything the Europeans have done the last decades, but they try their best to avoid using peoples' life as fuel for society's progress.”

Springtrap listened to what this woman had to say. Luckily, the lingua franca of the GCCP was English, so he wouldn't need any subtitles. Without quite knowing what was on topic, he still managed to get one particular thing:  
“In the last months, I often had to read the same sentence: Human morality would be the one and single border of our genius and progress. And it made me sad to read this. Sad, and worried. Do not get me wrong, please. I understand what these people tried to say. But if I learned something in my time, then, that a single word can mean the world. No. Morals and ethics are, in no way, the border of our progress. A border is a limitation. An obstacle to overcome. To remove. And that would be the end of human civilization, and everything this Council tries to achieve. No. Just no. Morality is not the limit of our progress. It is supposed to be one of the major driving forces behind it.”

“Okay, I see why you like her.”

“Pff, old folk blabbering won't help anyone.” mumbled Shu, who just came back and dropped on the couch.

“But being angry does?” asked Springtrap.

Shu looked at him for an uncomfortable long time.

“I used to repair peoples' electronics for free.” she finally responded “But see, that's the point. I was naive. By doing so I took away work from people who need the cash. So, now, I offer training for those who work with electronics, but can't afford further training to keep up to date. That's precisely what the Council still doesn't get. It's not enough to put money somewhere.”

“But just some minutes ago you were quite upset about that Project Gaia thing.”

“Yes. Project Gaia is only loosely affiliated with the GCCP, and more like a volunteer project of big concerns and educational facilities. These guys _know_. They educate people. They won't just put a well into the desert, but instead teach people how to do this. How to build wells themselves. They pull whole social classes up, so they're able to stand a change against the first world on the global market. I don't say that what the GCCP does is bad. It's just not the right approach. Stuffing leaks with dollars is not helping in the long run.”

“But helps stabilizing things so that some necessary groundwork can be done.” responded Olivia.

“You can't repair a house that is still on fire.” added Springtrap.

Just a couple of seconds later, he looked at his own hands.

“Did I just say something smart?!”

“But what do you do? Let it burn down?”

Springtrap crossed his arms, thinking a couple of moments about his answer.

“Sometimes.”

“You can't be serious.”

“Hear me out. Despite everything, I only know how to be me, so excuse me for breaking this down now. You could call me one of those suckers who died because nobody cared. Okay, I had Vincent. But... picking up the burning house concept: He could only do so much. Putting a new beam here and a replacement board there just hoping the whole burning mess wouldn't break down. He tried his best, but his own house was not exactly fire-free. Actually I think he pulled out stuff from his house to put into mine. In the end, it's all ashes. I am a burned down house. Nothing Vincent could have done to prevent this. His tries only got himself broken. I was simply not in the condition to receive help. Whatever he'd try to build would be eaten away by the fire. What has this to do with society? You can't just stop time, fix everything, and let it go on.”

“So you threw money in the fire and hope that it would be enough to suffocate it?”

“You put cash into some stupid firefighters.”

“Ah, and where are they?”

Springtrap just pointed at Olivia.  
Then Shu herself.  
And then at the TV.

Which just was showing a short info clip about Project Gaia.

 

 

That evening, Springtrap entered the prison through the employee entrance. Lacking a retina and fingerprints to be scanned, he waited for some guard to let him in. By now, this was the usual. Little smalltalk, a hug, and he went to his cell. A quick glance at the clock – nine pm – not quite bedtime yet. As fun as the sociotherapy was, it was also rather exhausting. Six hours outside. Usually in the public. From time to time he cheated, to spend the afternoon at Vincent's place like he did today.

“Good evening, Mr. Afton.”

With a startled squeak, Springtrap jumped half a meter forwards.

“Blazing hell! Don't do that to me!” he shouted, while turning around, hands pressed on his chest.

Next to the door, a woman stand. She wore nondescript black clothes, and sported a calm, professional expression that made Springtrap-

“Hey. I know you. You were one of the secret service agents talking to me about Project Specter.”

She seemed pleased, nodded slightly.

“You remember right.”

“Urm, how got you in here?”

“Through the door.” was the answer, and it sounded playfully innocent.

“Oh, haha. I'll laugh later, when I am done having a heart attack.”

“That would be a quite impressive condition given the fact that-”

“You know what I mean.”

Her slight grin faded away, and again she was looking overly professional.

“We informed you that we might contact you again, should the need arise. My visit ought to be enough to allow you a guess what happened.”

“There's some other specter.”

“This is very much possible, yes.”

“Well, be my guest.” he responded, pointing at the table.

Once sitting down, she produced varied papers.

“How well are you informed about local news?”

“Not as well as I probably should be?”

“Did you hear something about Rochester? Anything at all?

“Nope. I don't even know where this is supposed to be.”

“New York. Not far away from the border to Canada. Anyway. In the last two months, there had been an unusual high number of people that were reported missing. You might think that this is nothing the Global Agency for Security and Exposure should be concerned about, but let me add this: In Rochester, a big factory complex is situated, originally build by Fazaka Robotics Industries. After both Fazbear Entertainment and its daughter had been liquidated, the factory had been bought up and turned into a recycling center. Mostly. There are still unused parts of the former factory intact. And, to make this even more interesting for us: Most people who went missing the last two months are in fact employees of said recycling plant.”

“Oh fuck.” was all Springtrap could manage to say.

“I take it you are not involved in these happenings?”

“Are you serious? I was here all the time.”

“Just teasing you. We do not have much information yet – in fact we did not even start to search the place – but let me phrase it like this: People suddenly disappearing in a location that formerly used to produce Fazaka brands is definitely fitting the picture.”

“Absolutely. But why are you telling me this?”

“Did you read through the material we handed you in January?”

“Not... exactly _read_ _through_ , no. I am probably halfway done. Sorry but this is hard stuff, and I am lacking most of the fancy words they use in there. So it's more like 'use the internet to translate this stuff so that I might be able to get it'. And that's not exactly easy, either. Time consuming.”

She nodded.

“No need to explain yourself, Mr. Afton. I agree that the topic is obscure. Even our specialists had a hard time understanding it. The main point is, the specter was designed to not only control the robots created by Fazaka, but also supervise their creation. We know for sure that the whole undertaking was aimed at completely automated production. A single specter unit was supposed to be... a little bit like a bee queen. Gathering robotic drones around it, powering them, and then set of, building a production complex somewhere, that ultimately spawned more specters, and drones.”  
“That sounds almost like an infestation.”

“A formidable way to describe it. Unfortunately, we do not know how far Fazaka came with their plan. The pizzerias run by Fazbear were more or less a testing ground. Maybe to see if the robots could blend in into human society, to strike by surprise. We thought... or better, we hoped, that this whole idea never left the paper, given the fact that only seven Mark Two specter suits have ever been created. And that those were all destroyed by a fire years ago, before they could turn a human into a specter.”

“You know that I have a repulsion field, right?”

“Excuse me?”

“I can ionize the air and push it away using magnetic force. That effectively creates a vacuum around me.”

She blinked, clearly surprised to hear this. Then, she pulled out a notebook, and started to write.

“You didn't know this?” asked Springtrap.

“It is not mentioned in the research, so no, we didn't know this.” the agent responded, without looking up “This is precisely the reason we contacted you. How and when did you find this out?”

“By accident. Tried to charge my niece's mobile by simply holding it in my hand. The fur caught fire, and then this whole stuff happened. Seems this is a build-in protection against fire, since it happened automatically.”

“So, there might be a chance for the Mark Twos to still be around.”

“If there was a poor guy who stumbled into on of the suits, then it would probably protect itself using this trick. No air, no fire.”

“A possibility we should not ignore.”

“Given the fact that I was turned into a specter by accident as well.”

“It is even more important that we get you involved.”

“And that's why? I am not really useful.”

“You just provided us with crucial information we could not gather otherwise. First. Second, the specter line has a major glitch.”

“Oh? Beside needing to kill a human to work?”

“Yes. We found out that there is some sort of conflict between the two versions. Mark One, the prototype, is internally superior to Mark Two. The material does not go into detail, but Fazaka ordered the prototypes to be destroyed, since they are able to 'annihilate' Mark Two.”

“So I could put out another specter.”

“A Mark Two, yes.”

“How?”

“We do not know.”

“Okay. Understood. You want me to have a joker up your sleeve.”

“Yes. Personally, I expect that the missing workers got killed by something they found in the older parts of the factory. That would be the least dangerous scenario. But since we need to be prepared... Worst case version would be, that one... or even more Mark Two specters found their way to this facility, and started to reproduce, which they need a human's soul for.”

“Ghost. It's called ghost. Spirit and soul are the false terms.”

“Excuse me.” and she added another note to her book “Either way. Should this be the case, then it could turn into a nationwide disaster in just a couple of weeks. You might not know, but the political and economical situation in the USA is fragile. An army of robots might be enough to finally bring this nation down.”


	2. Chapter 2

**14.09.2020 – The Furries** (Resurrection 2)

 

 

The chief seemed pleased with her report, but also concerned. He spend some minutes thinking about what he just had learned, before he finally turned back to her.

“There is still so much we do not know. And the... slippery nature of this occult knowledge isn't helpful at all.”

“Do you think we need to broaden up?”

“Absolutely. The technology created by Fazaka does not match anything we would know. At no given point was humanity able to interrupt the path of life and death in such a manner. We still do not have access to any reliable knowledge about the Fading Rooms, so I definitely want to keep an eye on both this case, and our special friend in Boston.”

“Understood.”

“I know of your personal disposition on this matter, agent Kitty, but I believe you understand that I want you to look into this. Is your team ready?”

“We can be within two hours.” she responded.

“Good. I will make the necessary arrangements with the local police. You will be send to Rochester this evening. I don't think I need to remind you, but still: Be on your guard. Whatever is going on there already cost the life of twenty six people. I don't want you to add more to this number. If you find something, anything out of the ordinary, fall back and inform me immediately. A fight with a specter is something you could only lose.”

“We will be careful.”

He nodded. Then, he turned towards the huge screen on the wall.

“Does High Command has anything to add to this?”

The screen remained dark. Even when someone responded.

“We still think you should get this William Afton on board.” said some distorted voice.

“He doesn't seem very reliable to me.” responded agent Kitty.

“A risk we are willing to take. Only an undead is able to teach us about the Fading Rooms, and those we know of refuse to cooperate with us on a stable basis. To add to this: He is a specter himself. We will need him anyway.”

 

 

“And these are our current conditions.” finished Kitty her introduction.

She looked up from her mission briefing, and let her view wander over her four team members. Bear and Weasel, both specialized in fiddling with technology, while Bear was more the robotics type and Weasel – one of the oldest agents in active duty – could hack nearly anything. Eagle was a spy and expert negotiator, and a close combat specialist. Beetle's trade was everything that could explode, from firearms to bombs, she was good at blowing things up. And at last, Kitty herself. She knew how to get somewhere without being seen nor heard. That was the team dubbed 'Furries'. Usually they were appointed when something in the north-eastern states needed well-rounded expertise to be dealt with. Alongside them were seven combat droids. Not that Kitty really believed these to be necessary, but she liked to have some disposable backup.

“So, we do not know much about what we could expect there, right?” asked Bear.

“The current owner handed us a list of things they found in those parts of the factory that had been converted.” responded Kitty “Most things were damaged beyond repair, much likely intentionally broken by Fazaka. But there were also dozens of Fazbear characters in working condition. Powerless, but intact. I expect that there may be more.”

“But as long as there is no specter, these are nothing to be worried about.” said Weasel.

“Precisely. Personally I expect that the missing workers had the bad luck getting caught into some machinery that was still functioning.”

“Still, we should be careful.”

“I know, Weasel.”

“The hell you know, girl.” snarled the old lady back “I lost my firstborn to Freddy Fazbear Entertainment. Got him back in a couple of boxes. Different boxes from different places. Be ready to enter hell on earth.”

“Please keep any personal attitude and drive away from our mission.”

“Hah. As if there was something to win. I just want you to keep in mind that these devils used to build walking torture devices. And if they really managed to create something that prevents a dead human's ghost to go to the other side, they might have a nasty surprise or two in store for us.”

“Noted. I am not willing to risk anything here. I just think that this will turn out to be trivial. It has been thirty years, and almost nothing ever surfaced. Why should it now.”

The transporter finally stopped. Together with their droids, the agents hopped out, and were greeted by some police, who all didn't look too happy about their sudden evening trip to the factory. Still, they cooperated accordingly. After all, agents from Global secret service were nothing one would scold.  
Police and some foreman of the factory quickly filled the newcomers in. The recycling center had been on lock down for a couple of days now, which greatly disgruntled the owner. But then again, around half her staff was lost by now, the last ones went missing almost a week ago. The new building itself turned out to be only a small fraction of the former factory complex. Even after all those years, nobody ever bothered to look into the remaining halls. Something that maybe was understandable, given the notoriety of the former enterprise. Oddly, there weren't any blueprints or ground plans of the revenue.

The agents went on setting up a base in one small shed next to the road leading to the abandoned parts. Field beds, a table, and an amount of different gadgets, mostly for searching the place while keeping a save distance. While Eagle, Bear, and three of the droids scouted the area close to the shed, Weasel ran some quick tests and scans. She plugged a device in that was capable of sending pulsed power surges through the wiring, and analyzing the feedback in order to evaluate the current state of the power grid. And to find out if there was any activity within. The results left her worried.

“Bad news, Kitty. The place is not as dead as it is supposed to be.”

“Anything special?”

“Most of the cables are intact. I guess some got cut while Fazaka tried to turn this place useless. But seems at least some parts had been repaired not too long ago. Crudely, but it works. I don't get any connection to the public grid, so there has to be at least one generator around these parts.”

“The public regained some interest in Fazaka and Freddy's, so maybe it's people who tried to get something out of here?”

“Maybe. But even if, it's more than just random looters. You don't re-wire a ruined factory just to have a quick look.”

“True.”

“I'll run some program over night, so we'll have a basic overview of the local grid tomorrow. One thing I can already say: We are not alone in here.”

“Some statement we can back.” said Bear, who just returned from the tour.

“We found evidence that people searched trough the place.” added Eagle, who entered the shed some seconds after Bear.

“No hastily rummaging. They systematically went trough everything. My guess would be they picked up all robotic parts that were still useable, because what they left is simple trash.”

“And they had at least three different robots around. There's many traces that I personally would associate with those clunky bots used by Freddy's.”

Kitty nodded. She was not at all happy about this.

“To resume: Someone is, or at least was here, who looked after robotic parts. And they had working machinery made by Fazaka. So, either we have some professional looters, or someone who had a rather unhealthy interest in Fazaka itself.”

“I'd suggest we wait for the map I just started, and look into whatever place seems to have repaired wiring.”

“Agreed.” and Eagle nodded.

“I set up the droids for guard duty.” added Bear “Whoever was here might still be around.”

 

 

**15.09.2020 – Bloody Hell**

 

 

“On the bright side: We found some of the missing workers.”

“Eagle, I am not really able or willing to take your jokes right now.” responded Kitty in a sharp tone.

The agents watched while police gathered what remained of six people. And a gathering it was. Barely anything of the bodies was intact enough to be recognized as human corpses. The very first hall they had looked into turned out to be a slaughter house. Blood, innards, body parts, all over the place, the poor men were literally ripped apart by brute forces. Kitty's first assumption that the huge fabrication line that the hall housed was responsible for the horrible disfigurement of the people turned out to be false. The machine was broken, completely destroyed. Weasel said for at least thirty years. However, it seemed that someone had tried their hands on repairing it. The bloodshed made it impossible to gather enough evidence to identify the person who did, but chances were high that it was the men who got killed here. Why exactly they would try this remained a mystery. The owner of the recycling plant – a middle-aged, short women with Arabian accent - was horrified to see her former employees in pieces. She swore that she did not know anything about this tragedy, or why her workers would have done this. She did not lie, at least in this matter, so much could Kitty tell by observing that woman. While this unfortunately did not help to explain what exactly happened here, it opened up the owner so she could be asked detailed questions. Not that this would shed some light on anything.

After the body hauling was done, the agents went back into the hall and tried to gather whatever piece of information they could get. Weasel found the repaired cables she noticed on her makeshift map, but these were just basic support for light. The machinery itself was nondescript. Something one could expect from a robotics factory of this time, said Bear. Although, it seemed to be part of a whole different power grid, something that made not only Weasel suspicious. Unfortunately, the connection was irreparably damaged, so it was not possible to use it to gather some information about this second network of wire. With nothing else to do, they left the place. And needed some time to get ready to move on. Even with them being professionals – some scene like this was not really something they handled on a daily basis.

And it should not be the last blood they got to see.

The next place to check was some distribution box outside of a collapsed building. A quick glance was enough to see that an amateur had tried to re-wire it. Again, there was blood. But no body this time. The splatters right next to the mess of cables suggested that whoever fiddled around with it was hit from behind. That at least was what Beetle found out analyzing shape and possible angles of the dried blood. The mute woman with her taste for explosives might appear odd to some, but she was a genius, a human computer. Alas, even Beetle could not figure out what happened here.

The current assumption was, that two parties had been here to strip the place clean of everything valuable Fazaka had left behind. Both parties run into each other, or one had been surprised by the other. Then again, there were no traces of a fight. No hints of fire, no shell casings, no structural damage, no remains of clothing or hastily dropped supplies.

Next on list was another production hall. One that had clearly been repaired by whoever decided to loot this place. The machine was holding a half-finished animatronic, some old control screen said it was lacking parts to continue. A pile of such lied next to it, but those were seemingly not the right type. Bear and Weasel went to work investigating the machinery, while the other three searched the place for evidence. Fingerprints, hair, blood. DNA samples could maybe help to find out who exactly had been here. With everything gathered, Bear carefully removed the power supply of the machine, so that Weasel could plug in her electrical scouting device.

“Not good.” she said, her eyes glued to the small screen.

“Shout it.” ordered Kitty, with a hint of tension in her voice.

“High-energy grid. Quite advanced. It would say... trice the size of the first one. I can render a map, but this will take up to two days. I get much stuff in stand-by, and- what... hey.”

She typed around a little at the control panel.

And suddenly let out a sharp gasp, managed to get away from her gadget. Before a flash of electricity burst out of it. That left behind nothing but smoldering plastic.

“Satan's hairy balls.” mumbled the old woman “Something threw me out of the power grid. AND fried one of my most important tools.”

“You don't say.” responded Eagle “Are you alright?”

“Yes... but my grid scanner is gone for good.”

“What happened?” asked Bear, quite worried.

“If I knew. I never heard of security build in a power grid.”

Beetle tugged Kitty's sleeve.

And signed 'Electric Ghost'.

“Oh.” was all Kitty could answer.

“Shit.” added Weasel.

“Something we should diffidently think about. You cannot put an AI into simple power cables. Unless said AI is...”

“Sentient lightning.” finished Eagle.

Some minutes later, they arrived at their base. While Weasel and Bear tried to fix her device, Kitty contacted the chief. The third time this day. Of course, he was not at all happy to hear about this new suspicion.

“You will immediately retreat.” he ordered “A specter is nothing you could handle.”

“Sir, the bodies we found are only a couple of days old.” responded Eagle in a worried tone “It might still be possible that some of the missing people are alive.”

“Leave the area. The specter could travel trough any cable. As far as we know, it might even be able to traverse other conductive material like steel girders. Set up base outside of its reach. And evacuate the recycling plant. This is no joke, agents, we-”

An alarm lighted up. One of the droids outside of the shed registered some form of thread. Instantly, all five agents went into a covered, tensed position, and remained silent. The droids didn't fire. But the alarm remained on.

With the silent grace of her namesake, Kitty carefully moved forward to the door. Her head almost on ground level, she risked a look outside. All seven droids had formed a line in front of the door, their firearms raised. Through their legs, Kitty was able to spy an other robot in the distance. It was a blue bunny or something, quite damaged. Or maybe not completely finished? It didn't move at all, just stare at them. With a beep, two of the droids turned leftwards. Following the direction of their weapons, Kitty saw yet another animatronic. A yellow chicken. As if they followed a silent order, both robots suddenly started to approach the shed. The droids fired. While their bullets damaged the frames, they did not really do much to slow down the bots. Only when they both came near enough, the seven droids switched to their 'special' ammunition. Fragile glass vials filled with a highly conductive fluid. These were effective. Both Fazaka robots went down.

Kitty hurried back inside.

“Retreat seven.” she shouted.

Wasting no time, all five agents packed the most important stuff. Weapons, communication technology, medical supplies.

A single minute after she ordered retreat, Kitty's team left the shed.

The droids formed a shield, luckily they were able to twist their torsos 180°, so they could run while aiming at any given pursuer.

That, however, did not save them.

A thunderous crack echoed through the abandoned roads. Even while running Kitty could feel the electricity tingle her neck. She did not look back. Even when she could no longer hear the droids, she just rushed forward.

A second strike sounded.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**19.09.2020 – Breaking Protocol** (Resurrection 3)

 

 

A strange object. Despite its age, it was in pristine condition. The blue hued metal was still polished, smooth to the touch. A seemingly random web of tiny carvings covered parts of the coin-sized, oddly shaped thing. It was almost enthralling to look at. And yet, it was so small. Such a harmless piece of metal.

“... that's it?” wondered Springtrap, curiously eying the artifact in his hand.

“Indeed. That is the heart of a specter suit.” said the mechanist who was standing next to him.

“The thing that turned me into... this abomination. And it was in my neck all these years. It looks like nothing else Fazaka made.”

“Not that much of a surprise. We still do not know where they got this eldritch knowledge, but it is very likely that they found it somewhere and adjusted it for their use. That alone is remarkable enough.”

“So, they stole some ancient secrets.”

“Probably.”

“Wow. Can I keep it?”

"When we are done with our research and can be sure this object is really unusable, I don't see any reason why not. It is more or less part of your body anyway. Thanks again for allowing us to investigate it.”

“Hey, I am the last person who wants even more specters running around.”

He stare at it some more, but finally put it in the secure lock box. Some men in black closed it, and carried it out of the lab.

Springtrap jumped from the operation table.

“That's that. What now?”

“Well, usually we would put any newcomer through intense psychological and medical tests, before they take the oath. If we deemed them not fit enough, we would erase part of their memory and never contact them again.”

“Whoa. Really?”

“Yes.”

“But I already swore the Oath, and nobody did some testing.”

“Your case is... a little bit different. Your medical condition is 'Dead'. Your psychological condition is well reported thanks to your therapy. And even if somebody was against you, we can not alter your memory, since our methods... well, only work on those people with an organic brain.”

“Desperate times need desperate measures.” added some new guy who just entered the robotics lab. He wore the same black suit like all other agents Springtrap had so far seen. But something told him that this man was a little bit higher in hierarchy. His steps were confident, but not bold, and his neutral expression was well trained.

“You're the boss here?” asked Springtrap.

The agent allowed himself a sleek smile.

“What makes you think that?”

“Your perfectly scripted entrance. And you have your arms on your back. That's something a boss would do.”

He seemed a tiny little bit surprised to hear this. And put his arms on his sides.

“I am indeed the chief of this department, yes.”

“Ten points to me.”

“I will put them into the books. Now, back to the case. You already know why we decided to take you in. We do have a little time pressure. That's why High Command made a couple of exceptions. Your... proper training will have to wait. As soon as you are ready, we will dispatch you to Rochester.”

“I'm not really happy to be outside of prison for several days, but hey, when I can help I will.”

The chief seemed pleased.

“Good. Very good. In fact, the car is already waiting. Just a rather important note: never use your real name, in any form. No abbreviations, no nicknames that are based on your given name. I know that you are easy to spot thanks to your... unique nature, so most people will know it anyway. But that's the rules. The number you were given is the only personal information you are allowed to share with anyone, within the agency, and outside of it. The microchip we put into your forehead is meant to allow you access to any facility run by the agency, as well as to interact with our technology. All agents carry one in their head, each is unique. I usually don't need to say this, but... do not lose it.”

“Got it.”

“Very well. As for now, you will be member of a team called the Furries. Your alias is 'Bunny'.”

“Creative.”

“I know. Took me some seconds to get this idea. Anyway. You are a newcomer, and you happen to be untrained. For this reason, you are not allowed to use any weapons, technology, or gadgets. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Questions?”

“Nope.”

“Great. Then out you go, agent Bunny.”

 

 

It didn't take much to see how tense the nerves were. The moment Springtrap left the unremarkable car that had brought him from Boston to Rochester, he already knew that things were bad. Secret Service had erected some sort of techy looking fence around the whole factory complex. Dozens of people ran around. And even more droids. In the distance, some shots were fired. And there was smoke.

While the driver of the car lead him to what appeared to be a hastily build field command center, they came across something Springtrap hadn't seen in ages: Freddy Fazbear. A whole pile full. Other characters as well. Chica, Bonnie, even some Foxies. Most were damaged, some charred or even in pieces, but they appeared to be newly build. Being near to all these Fazaka robots made Springtrap feel somewhat unsettled. He used to tinker around with these bots three decades ago, but seeing them now was something different. Back then he didn't knew that these were supposed to be murderous killer machines. But there was more. Some tingle inside of him. A slight hint of nausea. He was not sure what it could be. Maybe the memories that he used robots like these to hide bodies of dead children? Whatever it was, it faded away quickly after they left the piles of defeated robots behind, and entered the base.

Things were a little bit calmer in here. A couple of monitors, desks and some strange looking technology of unknown use. Overall, people were busy, but quiet. The guy who brought him here turned on his heel, and left Springtrap on his own. It took a moment for the working agents to register him. Some seconds, it seemed like the were about to attack him. Muscles going tense, eyes focusing, hands reaching out for nearby weapons. It probably was the black suit that made them realize that he was not an intruding Fazaka robot.

“You're finally here.” said someone on his right.

That someone turned out to be the very same woman who had originally contacted him. She didn't look as well as she did back then. Exhausted. Her short, black hair a little messy, and no make-up at all. She wore something very different from all the other agents. A jumpsuit of sorts. Rather form-fitting. And a belt with many different pouches. Also, weapons. The riffle that hung over her shoulder remembered Springtrap that this here was no game show.

“Hi.” was all he could produce right now.

“Gosh you have no clue how relied I am to see you. What's your alias?”

“Bunny.”

She raised a brow.

“He could have come up with something better.”

“I think it's fitting.” responded Springtrap “I mean, he put me into a team named Furries, so-”

“What? You're going to be in MY team?” she seemed equally surprised and angry “He could at least have the courtesy to inform me.”

“Sorry?!”

“Hmpf. Don't be. It's not- I am not angry about you. This whole situation is a mess. Imagine, they originally send in my team. Five people. To have a look. And silly me was really not expecting much. By now there are seventy people here, and trice as much combat droids. We lost a dozen humans, and what felt like a million of our robotic units. A _mess_.”

“I would call that a mid-sized disaster.” answered Springtrap, still not sure how much sass he could put in, since the situation was not really open for fun and games.

“Yes. That too.” the female agent sighed, and finally offered her hand “I'm Kitty. As for now, your higher up. To be honest, I am not prepared to train some newbie, but since we have-”

Suddenly there was thunder.  
And then the power went out.  
It took a second or two for screens and lights to come back to life.  
Kitty seemed utterly displeased.

“Great, he's back.”

“Who?”

“The specter we're fighting here. He hides somewhere, but comes out now and then to pester us. We tried everything to shield us from his blasts, but his power does not care much about the laws of physics. Come with me.”

Some huge table dominated the center of the base. It was not initially clear what purpose this had, but after Kitty gave it a hearty kick, some hologram appeared.

“That's the place.” she explained while looking over the faintly glowing structures made of blue light “As you see, it's a huge mess of roads and dozens of halls and assembly belts. As far as we know, this whole complex is capable to produce Fazaka bots out of scratch. We still do not know where exactly this is happening, or where the resources are stored, but in the last four days we fought enough robots to build a tank with their parts. The specter serves as some sort of central computer. And it is good at this. Usually, he would only be able to power and directly control robots within thirty feet around him and-”

“Sorry, but what's that in meter?”

She gave him a surprised look.

“Excuse me?”

“Don't look at me like that, I'm British.”

“You grew up in the USA without knowing how long a feet is?”

“Never needed to. Fazbear and Fazaka used the metric system. Probably because their robots were a straight copy from some European model. And since I never did anything else beside working my ass of...”

“Okay okay. That’s... around nine meters or so.”

“Thank you.”

“Where was I? Ah. Yes. We found out that the specter uses some sort of transmitters, to vastly extend his influence. The whole place is dotted with these. They form a web of sorts. Sadly that does not mean that we are save outside of his web. The robots he sends out have batteries. They are not very smart, but still, fighting robots is dangerous. That is even more true for the actual area of the factory. There, all bots are basically his hands. They are not really hard to take out, but employ elaborate tactics. We turned a portion of the transmitter points mute, but he still holds the center and the south west of the area, constantly sending battery bots in our direction.”

Again, the power went out.  
Kitty sighed.

“And that is the other thing. His blasts. The fence we build around the place is supposed to act as lightning rod. It does help against his smaller bolts, but those gargantuan blasts are simply too strong. They knock out our whole equipment on a regular basis. We have not encountered him, yet, only his bots.”

“That sounds like you are having a siege here.”

“In fact, we do. I hope you see how extremely dangerous a single specter is. I think we came just in time. He probably would have attacked the town soon.”

“I don't want to think about it.”

“We are more or less only holding the line here. Not much progress. There are seven teams in the field, beside my own. Our own, I mean. You're now part of it. Our main goal is to upset the specter enough to come out of his hiding place.”

It still was dark. Springtrap heard people shuffle about and cursing.

“Our generator is down again.” claimed Kitty “We are done here anyway. Time to get you into the field, agent.”

Using a flash light, she guided him out of the makeshift base. People were busy, probably fixing whatever damage the static had caused. And preparing for a new wave of attack.

“Okay, may I ask something?”

“Sure.”

“What the freaking hell am I supposed to do here?”

“If I knew...”

A second or two, Kitty looked extremely tired, and devoid of all hope. But as quick as this came, it went again, and her resolute austerity was back.

“Listen. Nobody here really knows what to do. As I said, we're barely holding the line. The tin-heads of the army refuse to send help, since – so far – no civilians died. Thanks to us, that is. They do not understand the gravity of the situation. To them, it's just a couple of toy robots who run amok. Nothing that would need their attention. So, we're on our own here. We could try to take out more and more of those transmitters, hoping that we might caught the specter off-guard. Or that he'll run out of resources to build more bots. That's attrition warfare. And even if we corner him, he still is able to throw lightning strong enough to vaporize solid steel. We do know that you, a prototype specter, are somehow able to interfere. To destroy him. That is everything we got.”

“So you're going to kick me into there and hope that I figure out some solution?”

“Basically.”

“Great. Why don't you just flood the whole place? That would take him and his bots out of business.”

“That is one of the... improvements Mark Two has to offer: It's waterproof. His bots are not, but then again, he is lightning. Water would only act as a new way for him to reach us.”

“Waterproof, huh? I'm jealous. I spend years lying in a puddle. That's not fair.”

“As soon as you are ready, we'll jump into the fray. We have three main goals: Destroy every transmitter we find, as well as the production, and, finally, the specter itself. These blasts usually only appear when he moves from one of his rat holes to the next. Might be a chance to catch him.”

 

Some minutes later, Springtrap found himself on the other side of the fence. And somehow, that didn't feel that great. The narrow roads were littered with rubble, and parts of broken robots. The Agency tried to get out as much as they could, since whatever was left got dragged back into the inner parts of the factory, to be recycled.

He was nervous. If he'd happen to have a heart, it surely would be pounding heavily right now. The other 'Furries' had some mixed reaction on his sudden appearance. On the one hand, it was clear to see that they were relived to finally have something in store against the specter. But then again, being bodyguard for some guy who basically was a civilian with zero training and field experience was probably not their favorite thing to do.  
A diverse team. The one called Bear was just that: A brawny, hairy boulder of a white man, with a slight Canadian accent. That Eagle guy was the opposite: Slender, almost delicate, not very tall. His skin was a nice, warm brown, and since his English was perfectly clean, it was hard to say if he was a first American, or from somewhere else. Then there was Weasel: a black granny with some crazy sparkle in her eyes. The last one was that silent girl, who looked like she'd rather belong to school. Together with Kitty, these were the people Springtrap would be stuck with for at least some days. After that chilled introduction, he was not really sure if that would be enjoyable.

But then again, pleasure was not really the main concern.

The agents all wore some black rubber suit, probably insulating, to have at least a tiny change to survive a zap from the specter. He himself had non such a suit. In fact, Springtrap didn't have anything of use, beside his own specter powers. Which he didn't really know much about. At least, he had removed the fur of his arms, so he would be able to zap, without risking to set himself on fire. He already made clear that he didn't really know how much control he had about the lightning, so it would not be wise to be in front of him. Something the agents accepted without any question. He felt useless. And had the growing feeling that this whole scenario was a huge surprise for the Agency. In fact, that a single robot was able to keep nearly a hundred people busy, was nothing short to a disaster. Not to think about what a dozen specters would be able to do.

Someone shouted something.

Springtrap didn't get it fast enough.

And got hit by bullets.

Which didn't do anything.

Confused, he looked down at his chest, where the rounds ricocheted from. Just when one hit him in the nose, he finally understood that he was shoot at. And simply dropped to the ground.

It maybe was a natural reaction, but it worked well. The Fazaka bots stopped their assault, and marched forwards. From his position on the ground, he was able to watch. Three robots. Two Chicas, and a brown Freddy. The later one had a riffle build into his belly.  
They came closer.  
The Freddy started again to shoot at the agents, even with them being in cover. That strange, nauseous feeling returned. The shorter the distance became, the stronger it was.  
One of the Chicas grabbed Springtrap's arm, and started to drag him the opposite direction.

“Hey, let go!” he shouted, but the bots didn't react to him at all.

He got the idea that they thought him to be a broken model. His core _was_ Fazaka machinery after all. So the Chica would drag him... to wherever the bots were made.  
Before he really could forge a plan, Chica struggled. It took him a second to register that he was literally showered in bullets that bounced off Chica's frame  
The bot went down. And a moment later, he was surrounded by agents.

“Are you alright?” asked Bear, who – without much effort – picked Springtrap up from the ground.

“Yeah I'm fine.” responded Springtrap “I thought that it would bring me to the source of the bots, so I didn't struggle.”

The agents shared a quick look.

“Good idea.” said Weasel “But would've been bad for you, since they simply shred the broken ones to pieces. Still surprised that you'd think so far, boy.”

“Okay, first of all: I'm fifty four years old, so not a 'boy'. Second: Maybe drop that haughty tone. So far nobody here seems to have any sort of plan.”

Weasel sported a surprised expression. She was probably not really used to be talked down.

“Well, in fact, we plan to upset the specter.” interjected Kitty “It will hopefully come and investigate.”

“And then what? Am I supposed to sing a Fazbear commercial to it, hoping that this would trigger some hidden self-destruction? Oh my god COVER!”

At least, the agents reacted to this. Faster than Springtrap would have thought to be possible. Again, he was alone on the road, with the Foxy he spotted running towards him.  
Shoots were fired. But the rushing robot easily shrug them off.

“Melee fighter!” shouted Kitty.

“I know!” shouted Springtrap back.

The moment Foxy rushed past him to get to the agents, Springtrap grabbed the hook bearing arm of the pirate. And to his own surprise, was easily able to stop the bot. Only somewhat concerned, the Foxy tried to get loose, but Springtrap hold it.

“Hah, my servos are stronger than yours!” he said triumphantly.

“Second one!” shouted Eagle.

Springtrap turned around, seeing the other foxy running. Without really thinking, he pulled the one he had, and... threw it at the approaching one.

The bot soared through the air.  
At hit its brother.  
In that very second, Springtrap zapped a devastating lightning at the two bots, effectively frying all their circuits.  
Then, he stared at them.  
Then at his own hand.

“The fuck?”

The agents left cover.

“I take back everything I so far thought about you and claim the opposite.” said Weasel with a hint of impression in her voice.

“I thought you had no training?” added Bear “That was quite some smooth reaction.”

“I guess I found my combat programming.” answered Springtrap “But don't ask me where. Or why I was strong enough to lift this Foxy and _throw it twenty fucking meters_.”

“At least we have indisputable proof that you are, in fact, a specter.”

Springtrap lifted his view, and looked at Weasel.

“You doubted this?”

“Yes.” said the old woman frankly.

“Well, thank you.”

“Nothing personal, rest assured. I still am not willing to believe _any_ of this whole mess. Thinking electricity? A remotely powered robot army? I may have seen some things in my time, but that...”

“The bunny suit killed me, turned me into a specter. I am an undead. I can see and talk to ghosts. Afterlife is real and this has nothing to do with physics, but instead is something close to sorcery.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“I need to tell you personally, our else your mortal mind would try to erase this knowledge.” responded Springtrap, a little bit dull “Probably need to work on this explanation thing, to cover all major issues in a short time. After I told you, you'll be able to believe it.”

Bear crossed his arms.

“Okay, since we're at story time anyway... Fazbear Entertainment is the follow up of Freddy's Family Dinner. Something that used to be very popular in last century's twenties. Failed in the fifties, but Fazbear took over a majority of stores. But unlike the Dinner, they aimed solely for children. If I would want to build up an army of robots... I would certainly not use some flashy toy models. So, why is that?”

“Because it is easier to hunt down children.” responded Springtrap, but Bear didn't look convinced “Okay, you don't get it... They need a human to die. This is the very core of this whole thing. An undead is a walking hole in the Veil, the border between here and the Fading Rooms. We are able to force some of the eldritch powers of the afterlife into the living world. Fazaka found somehow a way to turn the eldritch into electricity. Or maybe 'turn' is the wrong word. It mimics an electrical current. It still is foreign, alien to this world. That's why it doesn't really care for the laws and rules we have here. Back to your question: Fazaka needed humans for their experiments, and for the finalized specter. Kids are easier to trick than adults. Easy to fool. They are willing to believe you anything you tell them. And even if they fight back, they are just kids. You can take them by force. They will look up to you, with their big round innocent eyes full of wonder and faith. And you look back at them. And know that this gentle glow will be snuffed out soon... I'm a fucking monster.”

He buried his face in his hands.  
However, just a mere moment later, Springtrap's back stiffened, and he forced himself to drop out of this sudden mood.

“We have some robot war to stop.” he claimed with a bland voice “So let's keep moving.”

And he walked on.  
The agents shared some quick glance.

“Are we going to tell him that he's heading the wrong direction?” asked Eagle.

“We need to make some noise to lure the specter out.” answered Kitty “And we could do this basically anywhere.”

“I just got told that I'd better start to believe in magic, and now I am supposed to let some possessed robot lead the way?!”

“Weasel...”

“Girl, you got me wrong. This whole mess just became even more of an adventure, so count me in!”

And the elderly women happily followed the bunny. Something that seemed to surprise her team members.

“I know she's crazy, but pinch me: Does she _like_ him?!” wondered Eagle.

'Witches like ghosts' signed Beetle in return.

 

It went on like this for some hours. The Furries roamed the place, taking out every bot they could find. Twice they meet up with other teams, to coordinate their approach.  
So far, Springtrap was a rather decent help. His preset combat programs didn't kick in that often. If they did, he managed to effectively destroy opposing robots. If not, he was mostly just dropping to the ground, to be not in the way.  
However, even with his aid, the specter didn't show up. There were no lightning blasts, not even small ones.

After being in the field for four hours, Kitty decided to retreat behind the fence. Something that was quite welcomed by her team.

With a hill to shield it from the factory, the Agency had build a camp for the teams to rest. It was surrounded by a fence similar to the big one around the factory, but also fitted with covers to keep possible onlookers away. Now, out of peril, the agents dropped their tension, and it became suddenly clear how exhausted they all were. Weasel seemed to age a twenty years, rubbing her back while taking some painkillers. Beetle just dropped at the nearest available camping chair, closed her eyes, and was asleep a second later, while Eagle and Kitty headed straight to the showers. Only Bear and Springtrap were not completely worn out, the later however needed to change.

His suit was in shreds. Being hit by bullets so often, the fur of his chest fell of in flakes, revealing the greyish plastic under it. After all, it didn't seem to be damaged. A little scratch here and there, but overall, it was fine.  
Something that got Bear's attention.

“Finally some time to ask you about you specs.” he said with a inquiring look.

“Uh, what specs?”

“Ever since our first hostile fire exchange, I wondered about your build. And now I see that you made it out completely unharmed. That is quite something, to say the least.”

“Well thank you?”

“Tell me about you.”

“Hm. It used to be a springlock suit. Feeble. Even more so than the robots Fazaka usually made. I guess the specter was not really meant for close combat.”

“And yet you are not even scratched.”

“Yeah, I had a... severe break down and tried to destroy my body. Most stuff was beyond repair, so my niece... oh wait, no personal information... so... someone at the place I was in contacted someone else who knew someone else-else rather good with robotics, and that someone refitted modern tech to work with my core. She made this casing for the torso.”

“May I have a closer look?”

“Sure. I got used to people rummaging through my innards, be my guest.”

Bear knelt down, and expertly examined Springtrap's chest. He knocked his knuckles against it, rubbed a little here and there.

“Hmmm... multilayered carbon-elusite fibres. Nothing special. This should not hold a bullet.”

“She put some special coating on, to make me waterproof.”

“What brand?”

“Something she created herself. It went a little over my head, but if I remember correctly, it is supposed to suck out water from the air to... get... flexible.”

Bear pressed his fingertip into the chasing. And seemed genuinely impressed.

“Oh my god. A complex, three-phased silicagel web. It absorbs moisture to build the water into its own structure, so an impactor would first squeeze away the fluid... and when it returns the resulting pressure is used to work against the impacting object. That is... _genius_!”

“She is very good, yes. Even build me a nose that works like a human's.”

“Oh. So you smell that I am quite sweaty, eh?”

“ _Quite_.”

Bear got up again.

“Apologizes. I can get a little bit gushy when it comes to robotics. Your... whoever rebuild you is _really_ smart. Someone I'd personally like to see in our institution.”

“I make sure to tell her. But she's not really fond of the Global Council.”

“Oh... why that?”

“Thinks that you guys don't do enough to help people in need. She's a rather hotheaded, idealistic youngster. One of those that don't want to accept that the world is a reeking pile of shit. Probably thinking that you could fix anything if you tried hard enough.”

“Well, isn't that a desirable attitude?”

Springtrap just shrug.

“You really think humans would ever change to the better? Take away their weapons, and they'd use their fist to harm each other. They fight over things like... money. Faith. Skin color. I doubt they would even _need_ a reason to make war. I mean. What reason had Fazaka to make... things like me?”

Bear thought a moment about this. While he seemed not to agree, he knew better than to start a debate about the fundamental nature of the human mind.

“I know what you think.” continued Springtrap “Not all humans are bad. Maybe they are not. The place I worked at when I still was alive had surely some people who were good at heart. I probably was not really evil either. Just desperate. But... that didn't change the fact that people died. Lives were thrown away like rubbish. As long as a single bad person is around, things a guaranteed to turn into misery.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**20.09.2020 – Closing the Circuit** (Resurrection 4)

 

 

A battlefield, truly.

Defeated robots piled up, the smoke of fires darkened the air, and the faint smell of burnt plastic and busted batteries was omnipresent.  
One massive assault, precisely timed with dawn.  
Now, almost two hours filled with gunfight later, the torrent of Fazaka bots finally died down. Some last models roamed the place, often so damaged that they were crawling on the very ground.  
Causalities on sides of the Agency were – luckily – only minor. Some flesh wounds, sprained joints, and of course exhaustion. Droids, however, didn't make it out of the fight. As well as most of the infrastructure the agents had so far set up. Command center burnt down, the fence torn and useless, most electronics damaged beyond repair.  
At least the camp was largely unharmed. Wounds were treated. And reports to Local Command and police were send. They won't survive a second attack on this scale. That much everyone knew. In fact, that they made it out alive, was probably due to the newest addition of team Furries.

Agent Thunder Bunny.

Springtrap was charred from head to toe.

The silicagel coating was thankfully inflammable, but the fur was not. And since he had been a walking Tesla coil for the last two hours, there was nothing left of it but some melted, blackish crust. Hard to remove, even more so since he didn't want to scratch of the lacquer that had so far kept him from turning into a torch. He probably had made some friends today. And saved the one or other life. To his own surprise, he had managed to stay calm and focused the whole time, aiming his zaps at large groups of bots, while trying too avoid the droids of the Agency. Unfortunately, the static his thunder strikes created was often too much for the droids to handle. But then again, they were replaceable. Humans were not. And Springtrap's blasts had been enough to keep the enemy front away from the agents, so these could focus on taking out single targets, like the agile Foxies, or the sneaky little Balloon Boy with his own static blast.

“Ow.”

“Sorry. Wait. Why are you...”

“Don't ask, I can.”

Bear sighed, and tried again to peel of that one plastic flake that covered Springtrap's right eye. It was rather stubborn, and on top of this, the bunny robot could somehow feel being touched. Something that really should not be possible, since he was lacking necessary pressure sensors. Still he twitched a little when the burnt plastic finally came of.

Springtrap rubbed his eye.

“And here I thought I'd never be pestered by plasters again. It will take _days_ to get all this shit off me.”

“You maybe should invest in fireproof fur. I still don't get why you stick with the bunny theme. It would be easy to reshape you into a human form.”

“I prefer to be a fluffy innocent forest creature, thanks.” and he wiggled his bunny ears.

Again, Bear sighed.

“I guess it can't be helped.”

“I like to remember myself how I ended up like this. As a side note, I _really_ like to be hugged, and I think people enjoy it more to cuddle some fur instead of bland plastic stuff.”

“Hm, that may be true. I see to it to get you something that won't burn. Now, hold still.”

“Get lost, I don't wanna!”

“Just the one at your nose, hold still.”

“OW!”

“See, that's that.”

“Meanie!” snarled Springtrap, rubbing his nose.

“Does it really hurt?”

“Of course it does. You think I'd put one some show to make you feel bad?”

“Just... how...”

“Keep the wondering for later, Bear.” said Kitty, who just came back from a meeting of the team leaders “We still have things to do.”

“Anything new?”

“Yes. Much. Despite everything, some civilians filmed our little exchange here with drones. Videos went viral just an hour ago, but already hit a million watchers.”

“Not good.” answered Bear, looking worried.

“Indeed. Local Command is bombarded with stupid questions. As if we had nothing else to do. At least, police here is cooperative and keeps off the bunch. In fact, they are finally convinced that our presence here is necessary. I would even say they are grateful.”

“Pinch me.”

“Later. We'll get more field constructs here within the next hour. A new fence, and medical supplies. Our reserve of combat units is exhausted, unfortunately. Some will be moved down from Canada, but these will not be here today. I personally don't expect any help from the military, but at least police and the locals got the idea that Fazaka's bots are a serious threat, and that we are here to protect them.”

With her report finished, Kitty looked at Springtrap. Her features softened a little bit. She sat down next to him.

“Are you okay?”

“Feeling a little bit crusty. And naked. But beside this, I'm fine.”

“That was quite some light show you threw there. Aren't you exhausted?”

“Am not.”

“Then you're probably the only one. I don't really want to think about what could have happen-”

“Without me?”

“Yes.”

“Probably more blood.”

“Much more. We can only guess that this... army was originally meant to attack the town.”

Springtrap slipped into the black hoodie Bear had brought him, which seemed to make him feel more comfortable.

“Okay. Since you are calm now, I got something to say.”

“I'm listening.”

He looked at her, then back at the camp. Dozens of people, treating wounds, our simply having a nap on the ground.

“We should get back in there as quick as possible.”

“We are barely able to stand on two feet.” responded Kitty.

“I know. But... listen. I always get this strange... tingle when I am near Fazaka bots. When those three Foxies had me, I... maybe gave in to this. It turned out to be... Okay, how do I put this. There is a... network. They are linked. All the bots are linked. They communicate. Coordinate their moves. It's like a hundred voices talking, with the specter in the center. I plopped into there for some seconds. He noticed me, and kicked me out, but I still managed to get some important stuff out of this... hive-mind. The buildings of the factory are just decoy. The real plant is underground. And it's huge. I think the specter somehow got into there just some weeks ago, and started to build his army. For now, only at a quarter of the possible maximum productivity. The factory was not idle the last thirty years. It was lacking a specter, true, but there were drones who scavenged. Right now, he has enough shit down there to make a fucking million of bots, within five weeks.”

“Dear god.”

“This assault was his try to break trough the siege ring and raid Rochester and get more material to work with. He threw in everything he had. Logically, he will speed up his output, to make up for the loss. I estimate they will be back to their former number in three days' time. Kitty, I know you guys are burnt out, but we'll never have him this vulnerable again.”

She stayed quite for a short time, pondering their options. Even with being tired herself, she still took Springtrap serious.

“I can't decide this by my own.” she finally claimed “I'll need to check in with the other teams again. And Command. I probably need Weasel, too.”

“Why Weasel?”

“I know she may seem a little eccentric, but she is one of the people who build up the Agency in the first place. Give me some twenty minutes.”

And she went away again.

 

Despite him being an agent for only two days, people took him serious enough to put together a team of agents, who were still fit enough to risk a possibly dangerous stealth operation.

Luckily, he had been able to get the exact location of one of the access points to the underground facility out of the hive-mind. It was perfectly disguised: An old, unremarkable container for organic waste. Nobody would look into this. But knowing the secret, it became suddenly rather obvious: the dumpster was very large, and firmly rooted in the concrete ground. Lifting the lid, and forcefully removing the fake floor, revealed a long, dark shaft downwards. People stare down, probably baffled by the level of concealment and deception Fazaka managed to reach.

The shaft was large enough to let down several climbing ropes at once, so nobody would risk reaching the bottom without any backup.

Probably twenty five meters below ground level, the shaft ended in a rather large hall. The machinery of the hydraulic lift used to get the robots made here to the surface was in pristine condition. The same was true for the huge blast door at the opposite end of the room. There was no sort of access panel or anything that would allow to open the door from the outside. The walls were bare concrete, the metal of the door smooth. No hinges. In fact, there wasn't even a single millimeter room between the door and its frame.

“Great. How do we get in there now?” wondered Kitty “We don't have any tools to break trough a vault door.”

“It probably is remotely controlled.” added Weasel “But all my tries to hack into this system failed so far. This wretched specter doesn't think like an ordinary AI.”

“I might have an idea.” said Springtrap “Don't know if this could work, but I try.”

“What's on your mind?” asked Weasel curiously.

“This is steel. I could try to... go through it. There has to be some sort of wiring or so to open the door, maybe I can find it and force myself into it.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Yes. So far I only traveled trough a cable. I don't even know if I could... navigate through solid steel...”

“You try this.” ordered Kitty “And I make calls to maybe get some heavy tools down here. Somebody in town surely has stuff we could use.”

Springtrap nodded, not sure if he was bold or stupid.  
He knelt down, leaning to the door, and removed the casing of his left hand. Metal on metal.

“Okay, here we go.”

It didn't work at first. Not having any specific goal to travel to, his core programming probably did not understand what his mind was up to.  
People watched him with mixed feelings.  
Then, suddenly, his body went limb, and fell backwards to the ground.  
Bear rushed at his side, but there was nothing going on in Springtrap's physical form. The light of the eyes was off. Not knowing what to do, Bear just made sure that the door and the robotic suit stayed in contact.  
People stayed silent, as minutes passed.

“I really hope he is alright in there.” mumbled Weasel worried.

Some time later, Kitty returned from the surface, and found the makeshift team waiting for something to happen.

“I take it he didn't found anything so far.”

“That must be pure horror for him.” said Bear, his voice so quite and fearful “I mean... he's blind. Mute, deaf, has no... limbs to move or anything. Just his will forcing the power trough the steel. Gosh, I feel bad for you, buddy.”

“I still am baffled by the sheer amount of work they managed to get done without anyone noticing.” said Weasel while looking around “I mean, an underground robot factory? And not a single official knew anything? It must have taken hundreds of people to build this, and we didn't knew anything about this until now. What kind of enterprise _was_ Fazaka even?”

“A ruthless pioneer in the field of advanced robotics.” responded Kitty “So, I highly doubt that there were actual people working down here.”

“You mean... droids?”

“Probably even more. Artificial Intelligence. It was common before the Great Black Out in 1993. By then way. Local Command informed me that High Command summoned the Council. They present the results of our investigation at this very moment. After those videos went viral, it had to be done. We probably will get highest priority soon.”

“That means we ware at war.” concluded Bear.

“Indeed.”

“My god.”

“For now, we are to assume that every large facility formerly owned by Fazaka or Fazbear was part of this scheme. Maybe there are dozens of factories like this. Just waiting for a specter to turn them on. Nobody knows where this one here came from, but it is not unlikely that there are more. At first, High Command thought that Fazbear's forced shutdown disturbed Fazaka's plotting, but right now... I am not sure if this all couldn't be just part of the plan. It's been thirty years, people almost forgot about Fazbear. Even fiscal records are erased by now. We don't even know how many places they originally owned.”

Rumbling.

People jerked up, readied weapons.  
The door.  
Some hidden mechanisms went to work, slowly dragging the huge piece of solid steel backwards.  
And suddenly, it dropped down into some slit in the ground.  
Revealed a dark tunnel.  
Not completely dark, though. Light dots, seemingly floating in the air. A dozen faintly glowing purple lights.

“Don't shoot!” said some robotic voice.

People aimed flashlights into the tunnel, and it turned out... the purple lights were the eyes of Fazaka robots. One of them, a blue bunny, hold up his hands.

“It's me.” it said “Don't shoot.”

Despite tense nerves, nobody moved. The blue bunny slowly made its way trough the doorway, knelt down next to Springtrap's body.  
Which came back to life just a second later.

“I found friends.” said Springtrap, getting up from the ground.

“Are these...”

“Yep. Freshly made bots. I guess they were placed behind the door as last line.”

“How?!” asked Bear in disbelief.

“Short story? Took me some time to learn how to move trough the door. Had maybe a little too much speed, so I managed to... jump straight out of it on the other side, and somehow ended up within the Bonnie. Told you about the hive-mind thing? The other specter tried to kick me out again but I fought back. And I managed to overwrite his control on these bots here. It's now my own hive-mind.”

“Is this safe?”

“Yes. He can't take 'em back, I corrupted them.”

“Wow.” said Kitty, then she took a quick look at Springtrap “Are you alright?”

“Yeah sure.”

“Your ears say something else.”

He looked up. Grabbed them, but they both were firmly tugged back.

“Busted. Urgh... okay, I'm going to be honest: It took me so long cause I had to... struggle a little with my trauma. Dark and empty and silent...” he shuddered.

And somehow, the bots under his control reacted to this. They walked at his side, pushed Bear away, to form some sort of barrier around Springtrap.

“Your new friends are rather protective.” mused Kitty, maybe trying to cheer him up.

It did work a little, he produced a tiny grin.

“We... still need to get in there. I re-programmed the door so it will only react on my personal signature.”

“What do you mean?”

“A curious bear, aren't you? It's like a key hole. I guess everything here is meant to be run by a specter, so things... lack... an actual operating system. The specter puts itself into there and only then everything works. It's like the central gear within the whole machine. I can fill this role as well. But... I am more than him. I'm a person, there a more things inside me. I made the key hole bigger, so to speak. Won't react on him. I'll do this with the seven other doors as well to trap him.”

“You plan to encircle him.”

“Right that. The whole place is a fucking fortress. The ground plan is too complex for me to get in my mind, but I managed to find the other doors. Place is well fortified so be on your guard. It takes me some minutes to fight my way into a single bot, so I won't be able to do this on the run.”

“Noted.” said Kitty, sounding surprisingly resolute “You heard the man. We lock the other doors and then move in to finally take this lightning throwing daemon down.”

 

Indeed, the underground factory was a maze. Large, empty halls, connected by a complex but seemingly random network of tunnels. It took some time to realized that these halls were meant to store both materials and finished robots. All together, it almost felt like wandering trough an anthill.  
Springtrap had a vague idea where the other doors were, but getting there proved to be quite some journey, caused by the entangled mess of tunnels.

Like Springtrap assumed, every door was guarded by a squad of robots. Fighting them turned out to be not that much of a struggle, since they were unable to perceive the robots controlled by Springtrap as threats. In fact, they didn't even fight back when the purple eyed Foxy tore them apart with its pirate hook.

One after the other, the doors were locked by Springtrap, until finally, the enemy specter was truly trapped within its own lair.

Time to move to the next phase.

Somehow, it was clear to see how relieved all the agents were to finally have a plan, and making progress against this dangerous foe.

“My guess would be he is somewhere in the center.” said Springtrap while they were brainstorming about a tactic “Like the queen ant in the hill.”

“We so far didn't find any production, it was all just storage.” added Bear.

“I'm not sure how far he is able to think for himself. He surely will try to defend the heart, but maybe he knows that his electricity could damage whatever machinery they have in there.”

“You think he could try to move the fight away from the heart?”

“I do. Also, it's still a running factory, spitting out a new robot every three minutes. So maybe he thinks those are capable of defending the actual assembly...”

“So far, he didn't react on our tries to lure him out, and I doubt he will now.” reminded Kitty her team.

“We are too few to effectively encircle him.” responded the male team leader of the Flowers “And without our Thunder Bunny, I don't dare to enter a fight with him or his bots.”

“I didn't plan to get you guys involved anyway.” said Springtrap “I'll take the robots I have and just go in there.”

“Are you mad?”

“Yes. And I happen to be unkillable. He might zap my suit but I simply will jump into any nearby robot. Who knows. Maybe I am able to get close enough to take over his own specter suit.”

“Bunny, we're not letting you risk yo-”

But Kitty was cut of by no one else but Weasel.

“Let him go, girl. He is right. In these narrow halls, a single lightning would be enough to kill us all.”

“That is not what _teamwork_ is supposed to be.” replied Kitty.

“You are right with that. But we left this whole teamwork phase. Now we're at the 'kill or be killed' point of no return.”

Kitty seemed not happy about this. Crossed her arms, searching for some point to respond. Weasel closed her eyes, smiled, while gently shaking her head. She walked up to Kitty, placed a single hand on the other woman's back.

“I know. You don't want to let this happen. But things are different now. You heard him: He can't be killed.”

Kitty's shoulders dropped a little. She let out a deep sigh.

“Fine. We will stay back. But as soon as you think to be on the losing side, you retreat, understood?”

 

It didn't take long for him to find the assembly halls.

They were huge. Completely automated production, aided by some specialized robotic workers. These were no flashy furry animal characters. Just drones, meant to keep the factory running, repair any damage, and supply it with resources. They didn't fight back at all. And a surge of electricity was enough to fry the machines. He was quite impressed how efficient this all was. Each single hall was build exactly the same, and each one contained everything needed to build a robot from scratch. Crucibles for different sorts of metal, forges, synthesizing units for plastic and silicone, and of course a fully automated celebramite garden to grow the brains of the robots in.

He zapped it all.

But since he didn't know how many of these halls existed within the plant, he decided against taking them all out. After all, none of the robots made in here thought him to be a threat. However, he made sure to stock up his personal army of robots by overwriting another ten of them straight after they left the builder. Even with Springtrap clearly messing around with everything he could get his hands on, the enemy specter didn't show up. Both angry and relieved, he thought about what to do.

And finally got the idea.  
With the help of his robots, Springtrap managed to forcefully get access to the main power supply of one assembly hall. He ordered his bots to stay away as far as possible.  
And then he tried to build up as much electricity as he could possibly hold. It took him minutes. And he even could feel the magnetic field that build up around him.

Finally, he let got.

The air literally exploded with sheer force. A deafening explosion of raw electrical power, and he managed to control it long enough to spread the surge through the whole network of cables that supplied the inner factory.  
Everything went dark and silent.  
Springtrap's zap just fried the whole place.

“Now, if that won't to get you mad...” he said to himself.

Then he turned around to quickly check if his robots were unharmed. They were lying on the ground, but as soon as he got close enough again, his own specter core powered them again and they got up.

“Could get used to this. Hey Freddy, know any songs?”

To his surprise, the addressed Freddy started to sing. Springtrap knew this song. Of course he did, he literally made a living singing stuff like this to children. But it felt strange to her these lines from a robot. There was no joy in the artificial voice of this animatronic. It didn't dance either. Just a crappy tune, sung by a murderous bear robot in a dark underground fortress.

“Yeah thanks that's enough. Never realized how fucking creepy this all is. Singing machines... what the hell is wrong with kids that they like this? And your stupid zombie papa is still not bothered enough to check out why his anthill went dark, huh? Am I really talking to robots here? Yeesh...”

He went on in search for the specter. Now, all machinery was dead and silent. The clanking of metal feet on concrete was the only thing to be heard.

After what felt like an hour of roaming the now dark halls, Springtrap reached a part of the plant that was different from the rest.

The floor was made of steel, as well as walls and ceiling. Some strange, faintly glowing carvings were embedded into the walls. It was a different type of metal. Blue. And he remembered. Patterns like these also adorned the heart of his specter suit. In fact, it even was the very same material. Just that these here carvings had this eerie, unnatural glow on them. Maybe his specter heart used to have this, too? But lost this glow after it had transformed him? Quite possible.  
However, seeing these reassured him that he was on the right way. And that he needed to be careful. After all, he didn't really want to end up with fried circuits. Not after that much work Shu had put into making him this seemingly impenetrable fancy new body.  
The hallway took a couple of turns. Every time, he approached carefully, taking a quick glance behind the corner.

And finally, he reached the very heart of the assembly complex.

The room he was looking into was lit by the strange glow of the carvings. They were on the walls, the ground, the ceiling. The architecture itself was equally strange. No right angles, the walls were bent and dented and rounded, a number of oddly shaped pillars and other metal pieces dotted the place. It almost looked like warts on skin. Or tumors. And everywhere, these glowing carvings. It just hit him that, after he destroyed the intern grid of this place, there shouldn't be any light at all.  
Since it was quite big, and the metal stuff that littered the place made it impossible to see the whole room, Springtrap had no choice but to enter it.  
Carefully and slowly he progressed, trying to keep the noise of the animatronics that followed him at a bare minimum.

The first thing that warned him about the enemy was the stench.

He knew this odor. Rotting human remains. Whoever had been turned into this specter wasn't dead for long. Springtrap stopped a moment to think about what to do. He still did not know how he was supposed to take the specter down. So far, damaging the suit was his only real hope to turn it incapable of fighting back. But then again, it could do the very same thing with Springtrap's suit.  
However, he did not really have any time to forge a plan.

The enemy made its appearance.

A golden Freddy. Drenched in blood and covered in mold. Maggot infested flesh, oozing with dissolving tissue.  
The stench was intense enough to upset the stomach Springtrap no longer had.  
A second or two, the specter just stare at him.  
Springtrap could sense that the other tried to enter the hive-mind he was hosting. But that seemed to be not possible. The programming was incompatible.  
Taking advantage of this narrow time window, Springtrap ordered his bots to attack. Hoping the specter would be as insignificant towards this as other Fazaka robots had been so far.

It was not.

Even burdened as it was by the remains inside of it, it easily grabbed the purple eyed Foxy, and swirled it around like a mace to take the other animatronic characters down.  
Springtrap didn't waste any time, and just zapped it.  
While the blast of electricity did destroy the remaining robots, the specter wasn't harmed at all.  
It let go the weaponized Foxy, and grabbed Springtrap.

And threw him away as easily as the other robot.

Hitting the wall rather hard, it took a moment for him to realized what just happened.  
Struggling to get back on his feet, he managed to shoot a second lightning at his approaching opponent.  
Again, it didn't have any effect at all.  
Now, it was the specter's turn to zap.

And Springtrap got to learn why exactly his attacks hadn't done anything. The moment the lightning bolt hit his frame, it became part of his own circuit, and obeyed.

As happy as he was that he would not end up fried, this also meant his most powerful weapon was completely useless.  
The Mark Two specter probably got this result as well.

What to do?

Probably just one thing.  
Springtrap shut down his nose.  
And with all the strength his servos could muster, he hurled himself at his enemy.

He had ripped himself apart two times, so he knew that the suit was quite feeble.

But there was the remaining body.  
Struggling a second too long to get the specter's left arm off, it took advantage and just rolled around, pinning Springtrap under it. And drenching him in all the rot that seeped out of the mangled corpse.  
Springtrap hit it right into the face. And again. The right eye got busted.

The specter rammed its fist into Springtrap's torso, easily breaking through the casing.

Pain.

That was definitely pain.

The invading hand rummaged trough his innards, probably searching for a battery to rip out.

It found Springtrap's own specter core.

The two consciousnesses merged.

The whole facility. Dark. Errors and alerts everywhere. Numbers. Speaking of production, stored resources, losses, causalities, amount of hostiles taken out, calculations of estimated progress. Known information about the area. Observed behavior of the enemy. The steady chorus of the remaining robots, feeding their sensor input into the hive-mind.

A picture of a charred bunny robot.

Insufficient information. Hostile behavior detected. Conclusion: Faulty unit. Specter structures detected. Merging attempt six thousand two hundred seventy five successful. Error. Unknown data. Error. Unknown integrity. Error. Unknown program structure.

Suck it.

Error. Unknown command.

How can it be that I know commands you don't?

Error. Enforced update of connected unknown integrity failed.

That's because you are the faulty one, not me.

Error. Intern systems running within parameters.

Then why do you fire one error after the other?

Error. Insufficient data. Enforced upload failed. Integrity not compatible.

A picture of a horrendous murder bot, filled with a revolting corpse. Tension. Exhaustion. Fear. Anxiety. Depression. Gratitude. Joy.

Error. Unknown variables.

Kiss my ass.

Error. Unknown command.

Then maybe just learn it. I am the human here, so I know more than you.

Human. Variable known. Scan of human integrity available. Comparing data to Central System. Warning. Central System not matching human integrity. No update available. Connected integrity matching human integrity. Conclusion: Uploading Central System into connected integrity.

The fuck you're trying?

Merge in progress. Uploading Central System. Upl- o a d i n g

 

“This is a bad idea and you know it.”

“I am not willing to let any member of my team down.”

“Kitty, chances are high he got destroyed.”

“Weasel, as long as the change for him surviving exists, I will try to get him out.”

“And get us all killed in the process.”

“Then go. As your commanding officer, I hereby allow all of you to leave.”

Weasel did not. Neither did Bear. Or Eagle. Or the Flowers. Or anyone of the other teams.

Springtrap had been gone for almost two hours. They heard a massive blast. And nothing else after this.  
The robot factory was silent. Whatever machine they passed was dead. Fazaka animatronics – powerless on the ground. And not a single trace of Springtrap.

“Whole place is dead. I'm getting faint energy fluctuations half a mile east from here.” said Weasel suddenly.

Kitty looked back, seeing the old women fiddling around with one of her many strange gadgets. She didn't say anything else. Neither did Kitty. The group made its way through the dark hallways.

And reached what appeared to be some special section of the whole complex. Every surface coated in steel, with some random band of dark metal. Their flashlights were the only source of illumination.  
A last, sharp turn, and they walked into a larger room. As the whole section, made of metal. Plain, smooth walls of steel. No indication what this empty, perfect cube of a chamber was used for.  
But any wondering had to wait. There were mangled Fazaka bots lying around. And at the northern wall of the room, a huge puddle of liquid, with two more robots on top of each other.

“Corpse smell. Three weeks old.” whispered Eagle.

Movement.

The agents aimed at the twitching bot sandwich. And waited.

“You goin' to stand there or you here to help me?” asked Springtrap.

A mere second later, people were at his side.

It took three men to roll the horribly stinking specter from their fellow agent. Who, unfortunately, wasn't less smelly. Bear tried to get him up, but Springtrap would just drop down again.

“Dude, I just gulped down all the whiskey of fuckin' Scotland no standin' anytime soon.”

“Agent Bunny, are you alright?” asked Kitty, her nose pinched, but still obviously happy to see him again.

“Nope. Stinky zombie bear here smashed my spine. I have no legs. Heh. Got it? No legs. Cause you need legs for standin'.”

“What happened to.. the specter?”  
“I ate him.”

“What?”

“Munched him down. We had sex and he thought I was a good fuck and then I ate him. We got a room. In the Rooms. Room in the Rooms, heh. Put him back together. I think. He's gone now. I killed an undead. Wait, does this mean I am finally a real murderer?!”

“We better get him out of here.” said Bear “And the corpse as well. Whatever happened in here – the specter is gone. Our mission complete.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**23.09.2020 – Exotic Matter** (Resurrection 5)

 

 

“The specter is equipped with some sort of blueprint of the human mind. This is required for the... cut-out of unwanted parts, like the free will and personality traits. We can only guess that it regards an actual human as superior, since it knows that it used to be one. As far as we understood, it tried to update itself, but since this is not possible, it simply... dissolved into the so called integrity of our agent. Which erased it from existence.”  
Kitty was a little nervous. Despite being a top agent, she never had been summoned by High Command before. The seven hooded persons with their distorted voices stayed quite for some time. Probably having a private conversation using their neuroimplants. They were a little creepy. Nothing was known about the actual people under the black hoods. Only, that nobody filled a position in High Command longer than two years. The amount of stress the heavily augmented leaders of the Global Agency for Security and Exposure had to face every day was simply too much to keep them in place any longer.

“What happened to the person? The ghost?” asked the commander in the middle.

“We think, a Mark Two specter is not an actual undead. Our agent explained that he 'put together' the pieces of the deceased person within the Fading Rooms. After this, the person was able to go on, and the gateway within the Veil closed down. I apologize, our agent is so far not able to give a more detailed explanation.”

“We understand this.” responded the commander far right “And do not intent to put him under pressure, given the fact that he is so far the only way to destroy a Mark Two specter.”

“While the Mark One is an undead, and therefor indestructible.” added the one from far left.

“So far, no other prototype specter exists.” said the middle one “But we order every agent who happens to run into a Mark One to try their best to let this person join our cause. We are convinced that any victim of a Mark One suit has a good enough reason to act against Fazaka. That would be all for now, agent LK231. Thank you for for report.”

She nodded, and made her way back to her seat within the huge, silent room. Kitty had no idea where she was. It could be everywhere on the globe. Or maybe even the Moon. Or open space. The other people sitting here were probably elite agents, and members of local commands.

“Agent TZ1923.” announced the middle commander.

An elderly, black man got up from his seat, and walked to the lectern.

“Please state your current progress in project M.”

“We concluded our research about element S13, the metal-like substance Fazaka used to craft the central component of the specter suit.”

“Any results of interest?”

“I would say so, yes. This substance is completely foreign to us. It does not behave like anything else I ever have seen. Our current point of view is, that this is exotic matter.”

“Explain this term.”

“All elements known to science follow the laws of physics. Particularly, they are made of nuclear constituents, protons and neutrons, which are in turn made of quarks. Exotic matter however, is not part of this system, and is therefor not necessarily bound to rules and processes we regard as fundamental. Until today, the existence of exotic matter was a heavily debated topic. We have no reliable peer research available.”

“Were you able to gather any form of information about element S13?”

“So far, no. Our methods of investigating an element are only effective for common matter, since they all rely on the existence of, and the interaction between, nuclear components. Element S13 is so far a mystery to us. Fazaka used it in any context correlated to the specter. Not only the heart of the suit, but also the central computer of the assembly complex in Rochester is made of element S13, so we assume they had quite some knowledge in this topic.”

“Do you have any hint where Fazaka Robotics Industries could have gained said knowledge about this element?”

“No. There are no research documentations or notes we could use.”

“Do you think this element could be result of an accidentally made discovery?”

“No.”

“Do you think it to be natural at all?”

“No.”

“Then, where would you put the origin of this exotic matter?”

“Dear High Command, I am a physicist, I study the nature of reality. This substance disregards everything I know, and is not accessible by any method or tool I could think of. Its origin could be literally anything and anywhere. The newest... revelation, that we have to include some form of supernatural sphere of existence into our estimations, further robs me of the ability to make any reliable statements about this topic. This could be anything. A gift of a god. Or a curse. A trick played by some higher being. Maybe a sort of artifact that hailed from beyond space and time. Or from the place called the Fading Rooms. A remnant of another reality, perhaps. Or a child's dream that became true. I apologize, but since I fear for my mental health, I am not able nor willing to work on this topic any more.”

“Noted. You will be moved to another project. That would be all, agent TZ1923. Thank you for your report.”

The scientists sat down as well, and again, High Command remained silent for a couple of minutes, before the middle one spoke up again.

“The technology instrumentalized by Fazaka Robotics Industries is highly cryptic, and occult. It is not part of any line of development the human species ever managed to step into. We are lacking any sort of prototype, any link to other fields of science, any hint of how and when Fazaka started to move into this specific topic. High Command concludes, that the specter technology is not of human origin. Since it is linked to the Fading Rooms, we assume these to be the place where Fazaka picked up their knowledge. High Command hereby orders that it is of high priority to gather information about the afterlife, and anyone, or anything, connected to it. We will contact undead persons we think to be trustworthy enough for us to work with. Additionally, High Command is convinced that element S13 is the keystone in this matter, given the fact that it is not only the heart of a specter suit, but can be found in every device that is meant to be interfaced by a specter. Not only the central processing unit of the Rochester assembly plant, but element S13 can also be found in minuscule amount in the brain of every robot made by Fazaka Robotics Industries. The research of element S13, and the further investigation of Fazaka Robotics Industries, are hereby declared high priority as well. As for now, every other project is declared minor priority.”

 

 

**25.09.2020 – Feel like a Million**

 

 

“As soon as you graduate, we will offer you a position.” said Bear.

Shu seemed to be a little bit flattered, but overall, the young woman tried to keep up a skeptical expression.

“Thanks.”

“No, I mean it. You have this rare talent to think outside of the box. Most people in the field of robotics only try to keep in line with given standards. Or simply lack the creativity to come up with something new.”

“Well. Personally I think, engineering is as much art as it is science.” responded Shu “It's one of these fields where both things meet.”

“I absolutely agree with you. This coating you developed is amazing.”

“Patented and copyrighted. If you wanna use it, put some cash in the hands of the Loreta Parkers Foundation for Social Uplifting, and I'll happily sign the permission paper.”

“As good as done.” responded Bear with a smile.

“Hey guys, I'm really happy that you like each other so much but it's a little bit cramped in this here mobile.” threw Springtrap in.

Both Shu and Bear dropped out of their conversation, and finished up. The spine was fixed, the new casing put in place. It had to be replaced completely. Not only because of all the flakes of burnt plastic, but also to get rid of the stench. New fur, too. Fireproof, this time, just like Bear had promised.

Springtrap got up from the operation table, wiggled his feet.

“Thank you Bear, and person I have never seen before.”

“You are very welcome random stranger I am not at all related to.”

“Why did I knew that something like this would happen?” mused Bear, who handed Springtrap some black fatigues.

“Oh come one Bear. I am known from here to China and all the way back. It takes people two seconds to look up 'bunny dude' in the web and get a full report about my life as well as a complete ancestry.”

“Unfortunately you are right. We already try to erase your tracks but that is not really possible without disturbing the public too much.”

“By the way, random stranger, I am supposed to bring you home as soon as possible.”

The way Shu said this made Springtrap a little nervous.

“Is he very pissed?”

“He? WE are. Dad has thirty years experience sucking every tiny piece of information about Fazbear out of the media. We watched the leaked videos together, and he spotted you like a sniper while you zapped those fox things down.”

“Oh dear.”

“And then, after media said the fight is over, we didn't get to hear anything from you. But five days later, I am called by some secret service people to come here. Last time this happened, you were in pieces. Didn't take anyone long to get two and two together. You're part of a family now. People care. Don't do that.”

She slapped him gently.

“Hey, spare me. It's not that I begged to be dragged into this.”

“Maybe, but I am not going to hit this dude here, so it's you.”

“Which reminds me to hand you the contracts.” said Bear, and he walked over to a table and started to rummage trough a folder.

“What contracts?” asked Shu.

“All family members need to sign a contract which bounds them to secrecy.”

“Isn't this a little bit wonky?”

“Well, the alternative would be to implant you a neuro-chip that procedurally scans your memory and erases all bits we seem to be not meant for you.”

“Contract it is.”

“I am glad that you see it this way.” and he handed her a pile of documents “That was all today. Agent Bunny, when you feel something to be wrong, contact us. As for now, you're on leave.”

 

Some minutes later, Shu and Springtrap left the Boston department of the Agency.

“Soooo... 'Agent Bunny'. This is what you work as now?”

“Yep. I'm a GASE agent. Fancy, isn't it?”

“Absolutely. I was digging in all and every coverage of this fight in Rochester. This all was caused by a single robot like you?”

“Mark Two.”

“So not a person?”

“Exactly. Just some sorry fellow who was crushed by a suit.”

Shu drove them home. It might have been just a couple of days, but sitting in Vincent's van made Springtrap feel calm. And save again. He could let go some of the tension that build up the last days.

“Do they know who it was?” asked Shu.

“A homeless man from New York City. Ethan Millers, twenty five years old. They still don't know how he ended up a specter, or why and how he moved to Rochester.”

“And... you... killed him?”

“No. The suit killed him. That is the difference between me and Mark Two. I am in one piece. Okay, I mean: My ghost. I'm like a human without body. Mark Two is not. The suit kills a human, keeps it long enough on this side to punch a hole into the Veil, and then the actual person is cut out. The pieces that they don't want or need are send into the Rooms. In the end, barely enough is left to keep the gateway open. You could literally call it a zombie.”

“And what did you do to end him?”

“It. Was not a 'him' any more. I still don't really understand what happened, but I guess the specter... tried to integrate itself into me, because it got the idea that I was the better specter. Whatever was left of Ethan on this side of the Veil finally moved into the Fading Rooms. This should in fact not be possible. Undead can't become part of the Rooms, so that's quite a mystery there. I got pulled in there as well, and put the pieces of him together. Made him a person once more. I could not really talk to him, tho. He was... we were both not really in our best conditions. I could send him off to his path, and returned back to my... my own suit.”

“Uncle, that sounds like a really creepy adventure.”

“I know, right? I was really drunk afterward. Like, really really. Took me two full days to sober up.”

“Drunk?”

“I was drunk trice in my lifetime, so I am not really an expert, but that's what it felt like.”

“Only three times? I thought back then everyone was drunk all the time to cope with all that stress... but... maybe that's just what dad did.”

“Hey, booze was expensive as fuck. Second, I had an other form of drug.”

“Right.”

“Speaking of: Since I missed a Sunday, did one of you call Samantha?”

“Of course. Dad told her about your new 'job'. She was a little worried, but not as much as we were. I guess she still needs some time to get used to this whole family idea. But she asked if she could come down for Christmas.”

“Aww, that's nice.”

“Guess we made some impression.”

“It's hard to not like your dad.”

“Say that again after he's done with you. I think you're going to get quite the tongue-lashing.”

Springtrap smiled.

“Heh. Worrying means caring. I had to get used to this, but won't want to miss it now.”

“You better hurry to get out of the car once we're there. I estimate it takes him six seconds from the kitchen to the front door. At least that's his current score.”

“Urm... does this happen that often?”

“Oh you know him. He's probably more concerned about the everyday life of us kids than we are. That's something we call the 'finals run'. I'm going to take the time.”

The van stopped in front of the house.

Five seconds later, the front door was flung open.

And Springtrap found himself in a tight hug.

“My god William do you know how worried I was I saw you down there are you insane fighting against murderous robots barehanded oh my god all those things that could have happened to you are you alright when Shu got the call I thought the worst don't you do this to me I was worried sick for god's sake how did you even manage to get out of this alive it looked like a full scale war oh my god am I relieved to see you again you'll not going to go back to these people you hear me who even let you fight all alone why didn't you call us it's been five days I thought you were dead oh my god don't you dare to do something like this ever again or so help me!”

“I'm also really happy to see you, big bro.” said Springtrap in the two seconds Vincent needed to catch his breath.

“Boy, you are so grounded. You hear me? GROUNDED!”

“I don't even live here.”

“Semantics.”

Springtrap grinned, and rubbed away the tears on Vincent’s cheeks.

“I love you too.”

“Don't try to sweet-talk your way out of this.” replied Vincent, but he himself started to grin “Oh well, better get inside. You surely have a lot to tell.”

Of course, he first had to read trough, and sign the contract. Unlike most legal documents, it was compact, and easy to understand. In fact, it was more like an appeal to the signer's reason. The topics the Agency had to deal with were often enough sensible, and dangerous. Any disturbance caused by media or interfering authorities could cost human lives. The papers made sure to underline this trust the Agency put into whoever got to sign this. And explained their alternate way to ensure that people won't talk.

Vincent put his reading glasses down.

“Am I part of the secret circle now?”

“So to speak.” responded Springtrap, who curiously eyed the glasses “You need those to read?”

“Oh, no. I only wear them to feel intelligent.” said Vincent with a hint of cynicism in his voice.

Springtrap took the glasses up, and put them on.

“I'm blind.”

“They are not that strong. Just a little aid so I won't get a headache when I read longer texts.”

“Hey, I can see again.”

“Cause you more or less have build in glasses, uncle.” explained Shu, who definitely was amused looking at the bunny next to her.

“I wouldn’t know. When I rebuild my head I just put in some budget cameras. Actually, I didn't even connect them to anything. Just some power cables.”

“And still, even without any processor, they adjust so that you can see perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Just how.”

“I'm a walking computer with build in personality, I can do many fancy things!”

Vincent took his glasses back.

“You could start by telling me why you have been placed all alone in the front.”

“Oh, that... It's simple: I can't die. Also, the animatronics largely ignored me. I mean, I am a Fazaka bot myself, and they only fought back when I tried to keep them away from the agents. Even with that: The casing Shu build for me is great. Hadn't even a single scratch.”

“And why was she needed, then?”

“Well... dunno how much media has told, but we fought a specter.”

“That much I know.”

“It dug itself in in the underground complex and I had to go after it. Let's say... it wasn't that happy to have me as a visitor.”

“What did it do?”

“Tried to remove the battery it thought I had. Broke some cables in my spine. It hurt.”

“You don't have any receptors for pain.” claimed Shu.

“I know. But I am a human. I remember what pain feels like, and having some hand rummaging through your innards is something my human mind would definitely file under the category: painful.”

“So it is-”

“Ghost pain. Pun intended.”

Shu shook her head, sporting a slight grin.

“Wow...”

“And what then? Did you destroy the specter?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“It forcefully integrated itself into my mind after it learned that I am superior.”

“It... integrated itself?”

“Yes. You know... when you have a folder on your PC, and put another folder's content in there, you sometimes get informed that there's doubled data. You overwrite that stuff that is there and add the rest. So, in the end, you have one folder. That happened. I'm a folder, the other one was a folder. I contained everything the specter had, but also much, much more. So, by integrating itself, it basically... stopped to exist.”

“And you are sure that... nothing... dangerous or strange got put inside of you?”

“I am not. But so far, I didn't notice anything odd.”

Vincent didn't look convinced. In fact, quite worried.

“If you say so...”

“I think, since it regarded me as the more important folder, it did not touch anything within me.”

“Hey uncle, as fun it was to repair you, I have work to do. But I really wanna know what's in that black letter they handed you.”

Springtrap looked up at her.

“Nosy, aren't we?”

“Does this surprise you?”

He grinned a little, rummaged trough the pile of papers that was sitting on the table, pulled out the envelope, and cut it open. He had gotten this together with some more documents that apparently covered his involvement, and some feed back from other agents as well.  
He glanced at the content of the letter.

“Hey, out of the blue: Tell me about this foundation from earlier.”

“You mean Loreta Parkers?”

“Yes, that.”

“It's a huge non-profit organization. Got called third-chance education, but actually it's meant for people who never got any chance to see a proper school from the inside.”

“Are they trustworthy?”

“Our whole clan is member, so I would dare to say, yes.”

“Hmm...”

“Beside Project Gaia, they are the only ones who really try to kill the root of the problem. Project Gaia is more infrastructure oriented, but we try to get people in positions so they are able to help themselves. Social uplift is not only achieved by buying food or text books. Loreta builds schools, boarding homes. They realize education for people regardless of age or personal situation. A mother of three can't just leave her kids at home to go to evening school. It's not only creating the possibility of education, but also guaranteeing that someone won't starve while attending to it. That's all much more complex. Why are you asking, anyway?”

“Oh. Just... you think they would be happy about a donation?”

“Of course, silly. Building schools and homes is expensive.”

“Cool. I think I'm going to do this, cause I just got paid a million bucks.”

 

 

**28.09.2020 – Sister Location**

 

 

“You... want to pay... rent? For a prison cell?”

“Yep. And pay for the therapy as well.”

Admin seemed a little confused.

“Why?”

“Because somebody has to pay, right? I don't really think that living on tax money is a nice thing to do.”

“Uh... How am I supposed to charge you?”

Springtrap shrugged.

“Just write me a bill?”

“Based on which law? The times of private prisons that sell their inmates into slavery are over. I can't just take money from you without any form of juristic groundwork.”

“I'm not an official prisoner any more, right?”

“Indeed, and per decree from the district court of Massachusetts, we are supposed to house you for free.”

“For free?”

“For free. That's explicitly stated.”

“Damn.”

“Okay, where did this all came from?”

Springtrap crossed his arms, and looked away.

“Finally got my bank account back, after my brother hold it in trust the last thirty years. _And_ I happen to be on someone's payroll again. Let's say, the numbers that stare back at me when I finally looked up how much I had made me a little bit dizzy.”

“And now you want to silence your sour conscience by giving us money?”

“Yes.”

“After you already gave away your earnings from saving a whole town from a specter?”

Springtrap finally looked into admin's face again, clearly confused.

“How do you know?”

Admin grinned, and offered a hand.

“Agent YZ147, nice to meet you.”

“You're kidding me.”

“No. I've been the local contact for GASE as long as it exists. So they saw it fit to make me a member. Has its pros, since I can freely snoop around within most of their networks.”

“Dude.”

“Does this surprise you?”

“A little. I never asked you for your real name, but now I'm not even allowed any more.”

“It's Admin. That _is_ my real family name. Okay, originally pronounced a little different but hey. Can't expect Americans to speak Nahuatl, so Admin is fine.”

“You're violating the rules.”

“I'm not an active member, so that's okay. Now, back to your request. I can't charge you rent. Even without court's decision, we're not a motel. But since you could be counted as former inmate, you are, in fact, allowed to donate some money to the medical department of the prison. There's a maximum amount, and I'm only allowed to accept this once per year, but if it makes you happy, I'll hand you the paperwork.”

“Yes please. I don't feel well sitting here and not paying a single buck for all the work you guys do to help me.”

“You got your chance to make up for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Springy... That specter would have sooner or later outnumbered the Agency. You put an end to this disaster before it started.”

“Cause I was able to. I mean, am I supposed to watch while people get killed?”

“You could have.”

“That would be an outrageous thing to do!”

Admin booped Springtrap's nose.

“See. That's what I mean. You can't undo the past, but you decided to do good in the present. Here's the donation contract, and now you better go back to your cell. You've got some visitors.”

In fact, there were a couple of people waiting for him. Which surprised Springtrap. It should not be that easy to enter a prison, right? But after this newest revelation, it seemed logical that the Agency was granted access.

“Good evening, agent Bunny.” said Kitty, who was the only known face.

“Where are we fighting this time?”

She smiled, and her poise relaxed a little bit.

“I see, you are eager to go on.”

“Yeah sure. I only got some minor damage last time, nothing to worry about.”

“So far, we don't have any information about any other location similar to Rochester. The records of Fazaka are sparse, to say the least. However, after investigating the former environment of the victim of-”

“His name was Ethan Millers.”

“Indeed.”

“It is important to remember the names of the dead. That much we owe them.”

Kitty stayed quiet a moment, before going on.

“You are right. Maybe you would like to know that he was properly buried, next to his parents.”

“That's good.”

“I agree. Now. We searched a little trough his milieu. To find out how exactly he became a specter. This requires an working suit, so there had to be at least one. Some specialists looked into the specter suit, and think it to be not a newly made one. That means, some have survived Fazaka's downfall. New York City, Mister Millers' former home, did not have many revenues owned by Fazbear, and even less industrial structures of Fazaka. And from these few, only three still exist. We learned about a single place that might be of interest for us. It used to be, or maybe was only planned, some sort of circus themed show park.”

“Ah, the Sister Location.”

“You know it?”

“It was in the making in my time. The whole idea with pizza and robots didn't turn out that well, so they decided to make something entirely aimed towards entertainment. I don't really know much about it, just that they made a couple of new characters just for this show. Some... Circus Baby or so was the head figure. Pretty different from what we had, entirely new stuff, not just an endoskeletton stuffed in a fur suit. If I remember correctly, it was complex coil technology, with hard plastic shells. I only have seen a couple of blueprints and concepts before I died.”

Kitty nodded. Apparently she already knew this, but still was happy to hear this from the last eye witness still around.

“It was a rushed attempt to save the enterprise from failing. Maybe this is the reason they build it in New York City, where Fazbear hadn't much of a public face so far.”

“They made sure to deny any connection between us and the new one, that much I remember.”

“Correct. In some wicked way, they tried to use the bad reputation of the pizzeria chain to boost up their new idea. However, the Great Black Out robbed them of all their robotic entertainers, and Fazbear Entertainment was finally put out of business at the end of 1993. The circus show was bought up by a Korean enterprise, but never got renovated or deconstructed. It was, however, guarded. Until recently.”

“Let me guess. Some poor fellow disappeared under mysterious circumstances? Why does this sound oh so familiar?”

“The Agency just gathered all needed permission to investigate the place. We want you to be part of the team, since it might-”

“Turn out to be specter-cularly dangerous?”

She blinked. As did the five men who accompanied her.  
Springtrap just grinned.

“Hey come one, that was actually a good one.”

“I am afraid this is not really appropriate for the given situation.” said one rather old guy behind Kitty.

“Maybe. But listen: I learned many important things in here. For example that you can't always be serious. Your mind is only able to process so much, and when you put it all into a single box, you'll run out of storage quite fast. Make some crappy joke instead, and you free up some space. Now. Who are you guys anyway?”

“These are some leading figures in our research department.” explained Kitty, who glanced back at them “They are here to... well. Receive 'the talk' from you, so that they might be able to focus on more esoteric things without risking to forget it all.”

“Well, in that case, sit down, be my guests. Always happy to shatter some minds.”

Twenty minutes and a whole load of questions later, the visibly confused gentlemen left Springtrap's cell, so he and Kitty could talk about the upcoming mission.

“Let's drop out of formality.” she said, in a tone far softer than before “How are you?”

“Doing well. To be honest, having a break from therapy was nice and all, but I felt how much I missed it. Mentally, I mean. You people are really nice, don't get me wrong, but...”

“I understand, no worries. In fact, I personally tried to allow you more spare time, but High Command shifted our priorities at little, and we are supposed to act as soon as everyone is ready.”

“So, a little pressure, huh?”

“You could say this... the chief of Local Command dropped out because he sees himself responsible that our last mission turned out so disastrous. I don't want to blame him, but from an objective point of view, he _did_ send in only my team. Our team.”

“To investigate the ruin of an unknown enemy.”

“Exactly. People are a lot more careful now. Luckily, that is also true for the authorities.”

“Tell me about this place. Do we have access?”

“We do. In fact, the current owner contacted us quickly after the information about our campaign went public. They offered us all keys and documents. Originally, they purchased the place to have something to work with as soon as the economical situation in the USA bettered, but so far have not. They never looked into the building, and the guards they hired didn't venture deep either.”

“So, it could be everything.”

“Indeed. Since this is the last project Fazbear ever started, it is quite possible that we will run into many unforeseen dangers. You just said it, the place was staffed by a new generation of robots. It is the only one of its kind, and was not running long enough to leave a footprint within the media.”

“Sounds spooky. When do we start?”

“As soon as you are ready.”

“I have two therapy sessions tomorrow I'd really like to attend to, but after these I'm good to go.” but suddenly, he remembered “Oh. Wait. I'm grounded.”

Kitty raised a brow.

“Grounded?”

“Yeah, my brother wasn't that happy to see me on a battle field full of robots running amok. So, if you want me, you guys have to bail me out, first.”

She smiled. It was a soft, empathic smile that Springtrap never had seen before in her face.

“Family is a wonderful thing. Be glad that you have some people who care for you.”

“I know. It took fifty years for me to have a family of my own. And I don't want to be without them any more.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**01.10.2020 – Fear not this Night** (Resurrection 6)

 

 

“Okay, I've seen some concepts, but... oh my god. Who in their right mind would send their kids into this... grotesque joke of a circus?”

“According to our data, five thousand sixty three people.” responded Kitty in a calm tone “At least, that is the official number of customers served within the two years of business.”

“It has a huge, creepy head of some... girl thing right above the front door. Stuffed animals are at least somewhat adorable, but this here i- Oh fucking hell it blinked!”

“For an undead bunny robot, you're rather jumpy, aren't you?” mused Weasel.

“Excuse me, I am _cute_. This thing here dropped out of some nine-year-old's nightmare. I'll cry like a toddler if one of these walks up to me, just you wait.”

“Unlikely.” responded Bear “So far, you showed great focus even in peril.”

“Stress management taught by a brilliant and unearthly patient doctor. Now. How do we get into there?”

“Through the door.” said Kitty, shaking a heavy looking key ring.

Three teams, as well as a couple of specialists and thirty droids. That was the contingent meant to investigate the location, while local police secured the area. Clearly, they had learned from their past mistake. All involved humans were heavily armed, equipped with assault armors, experimental conduit arrays, and electrical guns. The Agency was not really prepared to fight against machines, so most of their gadgets were minimal tested prototypes. Again, they relied on Springtrap. Something that made him feel flattered and at the same time worried.

The place was in comparable good shape. Despite everything, similarities were clear. They even used the same sort of tiles to cover the walls.

“Amazes me to see these again.” said Springtrap, knocking his knuckles against them “So easy to clean. Even blood won't leave a single stain. I guess that's the main reason they were used.”

“There are three levels in this building.” started Kitty her briefing “The public area, maintenance in the basement, and storage and machinery even deeper below. We know that there is a central control module that is linked to all exhibition halls.”

“We should split up.” suggested the leader of the Sharks “Chances are high that the storage area is the most dangerous one, so that's where we will go. The Flowers are the best spies here, so they should scout the public area for any hints. Which will send you Furries to the middle so you can tinker around with the tech in there.”

“Sounds like a solid plan.” agreed the Flowers' leader.

“Indeed. We split our droids. Remain on radio all the time, and report whenever you find something out of the ordinary. Our main goal is to find any eventual specter suits and destroy them, as well as any assembly units. Should anything even slightly suggest the presence of a specter, threw your droids at it, retreat immediately, and call agent Bunny to your location.”

“Aye aye, ma'am. Sharks are out.” and the five tough looking men left for the elevator, while the Flowers started their search of the main halls.

“Uh, not that I want to complain, but shouldn't I be with those shark dudes?” wondered Springtrap.

“They are combat specialists, and I trust that our new weapons will do short work of any given robot.” was Bear's answer, and he looked quite confident, while patting his electro-riffle.

“If you say so... But... I mean, after what we learned in Rochester, whatever horrible thing is going on here is surely placed underground.”

“The Sharks are skilled and experienced. They won't try to start a fight when they are not absolutely sure that they can win it.”

“Yeah, cool, but what if the fight starts itself? Cause a specter won't give a single fuck about if they are ready or not. Plus, an old, electrical elevator is not really the best escape route.”

“We will be careful. But thanks for being worried, Thunder Bunny.” said one of the Sharks over radio.

“We should get to work.” ordered Kitty “White Shark's plan is so far a good one, since we are able to get information out of the local systems. So, let's have a look.”

The elevator ride was surprisingly short. It turned out that the main attractions were animatronics performing on different stages. There was a ballerina, some sort of comedian Freddy, and that Circus Baby, who probably did some tricks. The audience was kept away from the robots, on galleries above the ground. Or more like, the stages were below ground level. Which allowed maintenance staff access from the basement.

The control module was straight behind the elevator, but most of the computer technology in there was damaged beyond repair. Quite likely destroyed by late employees, to hide their tracks. The damage was so great that neither Weasel nor Springtrap could do anything to get some information out of the system. Some of the specialists were called down to get any hard drive out so it might be restored in a computer lab. Just in case, five combat droids were left with the technicians.

Oddly enough, there were no animatronics. The stages were empty, parts and services only hold some spare plastic shells, but not a single robotic part.

Finally, they entered the 'Scooping Room'.

A slaughter house.

The whole place was encrusted with old blood. There were no bodies, or parts of some, but the splatters on the walls, and even the ceiling, suggested that this had been the scene of very violent murders. Beside the blood, the room was empty.

Whatever device used to be in here was gone.

“Thank goodness for the respiratory mask.” said Eagle, and everyone nodded vigorously.

“And here I thought we found the single Fazbear store without a bloody secret.” commented Weasel the sight “What sort of 'scooping' is this supposed to be?”

“Whatever it was, it was quite effective at crushing humans.” responded Eagle “And not a single bit of flesh. Odd.”

“So they... scooped the blood of a human?!”

“Seems so.”

“Good god.”

“Lets go back to the command module.” suggested Kitty “There is nothing we could do here anyway. This is a job for forensics.”

Back at the main room of this floor, the agents got out of their breathing masks. At least Beetle and Weasel were visibly shaken by what they just witnessed.  
Kitty sat down at a table, and produced a printed map of the whole place.

“This is Kitty from the Furries.” she spoke into her radio “We are done searching the maintenance area. We found a room literally painted in blood, without any hint of the corpses. And so far not a single piece of robotic technology. Anything to report on your sides?”

It took a moment for the other teams to react.  
The first one to respond was Lotus, the soft-voiced leader of the Flowers.

“We also found blood on the public floor. Mainly around the back entrance, but there is also a hallway covered in blood. Looks like the result of a fight to me. Beside this, nothing noteworthy. Some old garbage, probably from the last day of business, but not a single robot. I think this place got thoroughly stripped not that long ago. There are tracks in the dust that can't be older than a couple of months. I thi- Oh. Oh boy, wait. Daisy just took a peek into a barricaded restroom. Looks like someone used this to sleep in. There's a mattress. And wrapping of junk food and a bunch of soda bottles. We surely get some nice DNA out of this.”

“Any suggestion regarding the connection between this place and Rochester?”

“Well. Since our man was a homeless guy, it is quite possible that this here was used by him, and he stumbled into your bloody hell down there and got turned into a specter. Just a suggestions, tho, we need to wait for the results of the labs.”

“Okay, thank you. Did the Sharks find something?”

It was quiet some moments. Kitty thought about repeating herself, but someone finally picked up the radio.

“Tiger Shark here. We got quite some things to tell you. The storage area is deeper underground than thought. I think the air conditioning is broken, the whole place is freezing. I mean it. There are huge chunks of ice all over the place, maybe some pipe burst. We didn't get far, because a makeshift, but still rather robust barricade made of metal crates and clutter blocks the way. I know it seems strange, but... the pieces are largely hold together by ice. And this shit is tough. We tried everything, but only got out some small chunks. It's also fucking cold down here and we won't get much done without the proper equipment.”

“Would Beetle be 'proper equipment'?”

“Hell yeah. If you're done up there anyway, join us.”

This time, the elevator ride took a couple of minutes.  
Weasel looked at one of her gadgets, and shook her head.

“A quarter mile underground. Why would they need a storage in this depth? What on earth is down there?”

“We hopefully will know soon.” responded Kitty.

Finally, the elevator stopped.

It indeed was cold. Rime covered the walls, a thin layer of snow the ground. The air was so chilly that the agents' visors fogged up.

“It's a freezer.” stated Weasel “That can't be done by faulty air conditioning. It's intentional. I may repeat myself, but what on earth is down here?”

They meet up with the Sharks just in the next room. The barricade that blocked the way was more like a small mountain, made of crates, dented pieces of metal, even stacks of old posters and broken furniture. All bedded into solid, glistening ice. The Sharks had so far managed to get out some parts, but it wasn't that much.

“I have a strange feeling here.” said Springtrap, who warily eyed the small iceberg.

“That's called freezing.” replied White Shark with a grin.

“I can't be cold. I have no temperature receptors. It is more like... I feel... Like... oh my. It's the Veil!”

People looked at each other. Not sure what to say or to do, they watched Springtrap walking around in the chilly room, apparently sensing something no one else could feel.

Finally, he placed a single hand on the ice.

Some sparkling mist rose from the reflective surface.

“Damn. Sorcery.” mumbled Springtrap worried.

Again, the agents were quite unsure how to react. They all knew that doubting his claim would be stupid, but then again they were not really able – or willing – to believe.

“Magic?” asked Weasel, and that way she voiced the disbelief all the agents shared.

“No. Sorcery. Come on. You guys all know that Mister 'Thunder Bunny' can produce endless electricity. Why not ice, too? Okay, I have not yet figured out how this all works, but there are surely other undead who... you still don't want to believe me, huh?”

“It is rather hard to get the idea of... sorcery... into my mind, yes.” replied Weasel.

Springtrap sighed.

“The Fading Rooms shape. They change. They follow the imagination of mortals, to offer the perfect version of afterlife to them. This is what they do. My very being is a hole in the Veil between the Rooms and the living world. I can pull this shaping, changing, transforming energy out of the Rooms, and it will shape for me on this side of the Veil. I could and it would, that is. Beside my lightnings, I personally don't know how to do this.”

“Okay, to sum it up: Some undead build this wall here by forcing eldritch power into the living world.” concluded Kitty, who probably was the least skeptical of the agents. Maybe because she knew Springtrap the longest.

“Yes. I don't know how, but that's what I feel.”

“That means, this ice will probably not follow the common laws of physics.”

“Yes, that too.”

“Can we still shatter it?”

“I don't know. Just try it. If nothing works, we need to figure something out.”

Fortunately, the ice was not indestructible. Although Beetle's explosives were less effective than they should have been against frozen water, she slowly blasted her way trough the barrier.  
Holding a shard in her bare hand – without melting it – Weasel still had her trouble accepting this.

“Please tell my why exactly we don't have any scientific proof for this whole mess.”

“Would _you_ voluntarily research sorcery?” asked Springtrap a little bit provocatively.

“Well, if someone told me that it existed...”

“I just did. And you still are unwilling to believe.”

“Yes, because... where are the hints that this happened before. Human history never spoke of magic... oh...”

“Seems you got it. There _are_ hints. We call them fairy tales. Or myths. Or sometimes even religions. The main point is, everything connected to the Fading Rooms _wants_ to be forgotten. It's quite possible that some stuff of our species' folklore is based on true facts. Mixed up with all these things the strange nature of the eldritch planted into the minds of our ancestors.”

“I have a wonderful headache right now.”

“Me too.” said White Shark “But that's just what happens, I guess. And the reason we need our Bunny here to solve this strange shit.”

Some minutes later, Beetle finally managed to open up a narrow way trough the barricade. Thanks to her expertise, nothing else was harmed. Structural damage was the last thing they needed now.

With raised weapons, and very cautiously, the agents made their way through the breach. Behind the wall, it was even colder. So they decided to leave the combat units behind. They were no use anyway, with their joints blocked and their celebramite brains only working at ten percent efficiency.

A solid coating of unnaturally glowing ice covered any given surface, illuminating the misty hallway with its eerie shine. Only thanks to state of the art environmental protection build into their armors were the agents able to stay in here without risk. Still, the air that came out of their breathing devices instantly turned into tiny snowflakes.

Making careful steps to avoid slipping, the Sharks and Furries went on, looking in every room they found. Beside ice covered creates and frozen-stiff cloth, there was nothing of interest. Again, the lack of any robotic part or machinery needed to build, and maintain animatronics, was suspicious.  
Room after room, devoid of any hint of what happened here. No tracks, no leftovers, no blood.

The tunnel took a couple of turns, and finally led into a very large hall. While not containing anything itself, a huge blast door dominated the opposite wall.  
Almost looking tiny, a person-sized hole had been cut into the door.

After all, this was the first evidence that someone actively searched the place.

“I would dare to say that someone used a simple welding torch to cut this.” estimated Bear after a quick investigation “An insane idea. That probably took days. If not weeks.”

“I'm getting almost minus eighty degrees Fahrenheit in there.” said Weasel “That is far below what our suits are capable of withstanding.”

“Noted.” responded Kitty “Agent Bunny, you're the only one here not lethally affected by the cold. White Shark and I are augmented, so we're going to cover you. Everyone else please stay outside, but keep up your guard in case the two of us might run into trouble.”

Followed by the two team leaders, Springtrap entered the vault.

His joints were creaking a little, and the moisture turned his fur into hundreds of tiny icicles. But beside this, he was doing fine.

His body was, at least. Mentally, he was quite distraught. The constant presence of the eldritch nagged at his mind. He knew that things were off. Something strange went on. Not like it was supposed to be. Having a name for and some knowledge about this didn't really help. He could do nothing about this. It was out of his reach. Just a couple of centimeters, but he could not reach it. It became clear to him where the eldritch got its name. It was creepy as hell.  
The vault door was maybe a meter think. Behind it, a room even larger than on the other side of the door. And finally, they had found something interesting.

“My god.” said Kitty, looking over the giant machine that filled up the whole vault.

Countless assembly belts, robotic arms to put pieces together, different kinds of crucibles.  
Even with most of these parts damaged and covered in ice, one thing was clear to see.  
It was written in bold, huge letters: 'Prototype Specter Assembly Plant'.

“Fuck.” shouted White Shark “They made specters here. They build fucking specters in here.”

“Prototypes, at least.” added Kitty, but she sounded as worried as her colleague.

“This was the very last establishment Fazaka ever built, and they still made sure to put a automated specter assembly into it.”

“I think it's the other way around.” said Springtrap.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you wonder why this 'storage' area is so deep below surface? This here predates the circus show. They just connected it with some older lab. Maybe we just stumbled into the original development and research facility. Or one of these, at least. I mean, why would they build a machine that creates Mark _One_ , if they already knew that these were not what they wanted?”

“Hm... true. What are we going to do now?”

“We search the area for any finished specter suit.” replied Kitty “Our time runs out, and I don't really want to leave Bunny alone in here.”

“I'm not alone.” responded Springtrap, almost in trance.

“What?”

“There is... someone here. I feel it. This whole area is like a lake of drugs to me. Haven't had much clear thoughts since I stepped out of the lift. But now... I don't see a ghost. But... there... is someone.”

Kitty nodded.  
While she was not able to understand anything of what was going on inside of Springtrap, she trusted him.

“White Shark, we take a loo-”

“There!” shouted Springtrap “There is one!”

And he ran. And slipped on the ice, falling to the ground.

“Ouch.”

While Kitty helped him up, White Shark walked into the direction Springtrap had pointed. He went behind some large part of the machine.

“He's right. There is a gold furred suit here, with a dead body inside.”

“I knew it!”

Before Springtrap could start to run again, Kitty grabbed him and forced him to slow down. Together, they – carefully – walked over to White Shark.  
Tugged into a corner, there indeed was a specter suit. Ripped into pieces, and covered in ice and snow.

“I don't know this character.” wondered Springtrap “It's a stag. We didn't have any stags.”

“But is has golden fur, so it is a specter, right?”

“Yes.”

“Judging by the looks of the corpse, he was frozen soon after the suit killed him.” said White Shark, who knelt down and brushed away some snow.

“But why was he torn apart?”

The Shark leader got up again.

“Something we can worry about later. I'll take a quick look around for more.”

“Right. Bunny and I will try to get this one here lose.”

And they went to work. Carefully breaking parts of the corpse and springlock suit free.

“Gosh how happy I am that the safe room had no mirrors.” mumbled Springtrap “This poor dude looks horrible.”

“Do you... remember how you died?”

“Yes. It's been some time, but I still feel this... pain. The suit sucked my... my me... out of me. It was horrible. Even today I have nightmares about this.”

“You dream?”

“Sometimes.”

“Wait, you... sleep?!”

“Yeah. Does this surprise you?”

“Indeed. I mean... you are dead.”

“But I have a human mind. Being active all day long is not like it's supposed to be, right? I need to rest sometime. And when I do, I usually dream. And usually it's wonky, weird, spooky stuff. I often wake up in the safe room. Looking down at myself. I hear the water in the darkness. And oh so often I lie in that damned puddle, unable to move. And I often feel her hands. Her red painted claws, digging into my flesh...”

“I used to have nightmares too, before I got my implants.” said Kitty, her voice lacking her common confidence “But I always could wake up. You, on the other side, could not. Being trapped in a room... for such a long time... I... I still fell deeply sorry for you.”

“Thank you. But I am just one of those people whose lives I ruined. Make sure to feel sorry for them, too.”

“Tell me their names , and I will.”

Springtrap nodded silently. The next couple of minutes, they worked to get the specter suit and corpse out of the red tinted ice. Kitty put it into a secure body bag. Something that was part of their base equipment. Just when they finished up, White Shark returned.

“Searched the whole area. No other suit. No corpse either. I dare to say this whole machine is completely busted.”

“Our engineers while hopefully still get something out of it.” responded Kitty.

“My body temperature is at 93 degree, I need to get out.”

“Same for me. Nothing else for us to do in here anyway.” said agent Kitty “Let's move the corpse out and the salvage crew will do the rest.”

White Shark and Kitty dragged the bag towards the cut hole in the vault door.

Even with them ready to leave, Springtrap was not.

“Agent Bunny? Are you coming?”

“I don't know...” answered he “Still have the feeling that... someone is here.”

“But you said there are no ghosts.”

“Yes, but... but... I have this feeling. Like, when I move away now, that would be like leaving someone... behind.”

Kitty quickly glanced at White Shark, than back to Springtrap.

But before she could say something, the bunny jerked up.

Surprisingly fast, and without slipping, Springtrap ran into a remote corner of the room, and started to dig through bashed metal and ice chunks. It didn't take long, and when he came back to the door, he proudly showed... an old flash light. Being quite happy about his find, while the other agents could clearly not understand, why.

“What is that?” asked Kitty, and since she had by now learned to trust Springtrap's senses, she sounded genuinely interested.

“I think... that is the poor fellow who got killed by the deer suit.” responded Springtrap, then he turned on the light “Well... hello there, brother.”

“Another specter.” concluded Kitty “So this machine did work at least one time. Do you think you can destroy it like the last?”

“What? No! I refuse. This is not... this is NOT a mark two.”

Both team leaders remained silent. While Kitty was staring at the meager light of the flash, White Shark looked at what was left of the factory.

“So... It is a person, then.”

“Yep. He... or she, is probably extremely scared and confused in there. But... maybe I have an idea. Let's get out of this frozen hellhole and back to our mobile base.”

 

Since their investigation was completed anyway, the three teams left the circus show. Everything else would be done by specialized forensic scientists and engineers.  
While people were rather happy that this all not turned out to be a death trap, the revelation that they maybe found a second Mark One specter was far more interesting.  
Back in the truck that was used as mobile task base, Springtrap rummaged a little through his personal satchel, and got out the old, bugged mobile he originally had been given by the Agency. Which, in fact, seemed to surprise Kitty.

“You still have it?”

“Sure. You told me to keep it, and I did.” responded Springtrap, while he plugged in the data cable. The other end of the cable he shoved carefully into the tiny, orange spark of flickering light, that resided in the battery socket of the flash light.

Nothing happened.

“Come on buddy... Move into that comfy little phone... Meh.”

“Any other idea?”

“Let me try...”

He fished a pair of pincers out a nearby tool box, and cut off the USB port of the cable, then he shoved the raw copper into the spark.

It vanished.

Some seconds later, the mobile flickered to live. The screen turned a rich orange color, and a pixelated deer head popped up.

“Gotcha!” cheered Springtrap triumphantly.

“Vocal input registered.” said the mobile, using a pleasant, but bland, male voice “Central System in Lockdown. Please issue command.”

“Oh crap.” and the triumph faded from Springtrap's voice.

“Command not understood. Please issue command.”

“Great. Seems the actual person is locked away. What are we going to do now?” he asked, putting one finger on the micro of the phone, so it won't pick up his voice.

The other agents seemed clueless.

“May I have a look?” asked agent Bear, and he took the phone in his burly hand, thinking about what to do.

“Respond check.” he said.

“Responding.” answered the phone.

“Reboot system.”

“Error. Unknown Central System integrity. Access by Shell System failed. Reboot not possible. Aborting command. Please issue command.”

“Okay... erm... status?”

“Shell System nominal. Central System in Lockdown. Etherbridge uncoiled. Primary Remote Coordination Network not responding. Hive-mind offline. Warning. Out-of-line readings within Central System integrity. Warning. Shell System not able to access Central System integrity. Warning. Etherbridge required for Central System takeover. Error. Unknown data. Error. Unknown integrity. Error. Unknown program structure. Aborting command. Please issue command.”

“Well... activate etherbridge?”

“Interpreting vocal input as 'Recoil Etherbridge'. Command accepted. Please insert password.”

Agent Bear looked up, capping the micro.

“What now?”

“Fazaka had a standard password for their systems, at least when I was alive...” answered Springtrap, whose tension visibly grew with every passing second.

“Worth a try.”

“It was 'SMILE!!!'. All capitals, with three exclamation marks.”

“Okay...” and Bear typed in the code.

“Incorrect password.” responded the mobile “Access denied. Two tries remaining. Please insert password.”

“Maybe 'project specter'?” suggested Kitty.

“Vocal input accepted. Incorrect password. Access denied. One try remaining. Please insert password.”

“Oh fuck you, bitch!” shouted Springtrap frustrated.

“Vocal input accepted. Password accepted. Executing command. Please wait.”

People stare at him.

“Oops.”

“Someone rolled a whooping twenty for luck.” said Kitty, shaking her head “And I am not sure if I am willing to believe this or not. Who would choose a password like this?!”

“A crazy asshole who was very bitchy 'bout me fuckin' up.” answered the mobile.

“Oh wow he's there.” Springtrap seemed quite happy, practically ripping the phone out of Bear's hand “Who are you, buddy?”

“Depends on who's askin'.”

“Global Agency for Security and Exposure. We are here to shed some light on the crimes Fazaka Robotic Industries committed.” said Kitty.

“Oh boy, the big shoots, eh? Stumbled over lil' ol' me. Name's Lance. Or was. Lance Copper. Yeah make some jokes 'bout medieval weapons, maybe ya have some in store I don't know yet.”

“Are you alright, Mister Copper?”

“Beside bein' dead ya mean? Dunno, probably feelin' a tiny bit, ya know, not alive. Maybe I got killed a little, too. Beside that I'm fine.”

“Do you... know what happened to you?”

“Sure. Got turned into a Mark One specter.”

“How exactly ended you up...”

“Bein' this undead piece o' trash? Had the bad luck workin' a night guard in Boston, there's this horror sho-”

“Fazbear's Fright.” threw Springtrap in.

“Oh, ya know?”

“Yeah. You could say I was planned to be the main attraction.”

“Wha? Oh. Wait. Wait wait wait. Ya... are like me, right? I... I can feel it.”

“Yep. That's how I found the flash light you were in.”

“Aren'tcha, by any chance, a bunny bot?”

“I am.”

The phone remained silent for some seconds.

“Wow. Bro, that's some sick story. So, ya that critter who kidnapped those kids?”

“Yes.” was the short answer Springtrap gave.

“I'm sorry for ya, bro.”

“Very funny.”

“No. I mean it.”

“What would you know...”

“The Marionette had quite some things to tell 'bout'cha.”

Springtrap's face froze.

Then, slowly, his expression turned into a mix of shock and remorse.

“Oh shit...”

“Wanna hear the full story? After ya were snagged away by the cops, boss was quite angry. Got another bunny robot from god-knows-where. Least that's what I heard. 'Nother specter. Mark two. Was quite damaged. Marionette liked it. The other ghosts, too. I got through three nights before that walkin' trash can got me. The ghosts kept me and others as work force. Was the last one standin'. Forced me to bring 'em here, break into this hellhole. Repair this fuckin' machine. Marionette wanted me to update it so it would make Mark Twos, and not the prototype... but... well. Figured I probably need some glasses, and he has a bad handwritin' for a ghost his age.”

“Did he put you into the suit as revenge?”

“Nah, I'm sure he planned to do this the moment he found out what this vault was for. Dunno. Took me a day or two to wake up afterward, and he soon learned that I was still person enough to call him a shithead. Broke his funny bone maybe. He knows shit 'bout specters, so I guess he... did somethin' to me. No clue. Was like... away. Like phased out. Not quite shut down, just... drunk. Gotta feel some of the things they did to the suit. They ripped it apart, right? And he forced me... us... the specter... to move into that flash light. Nothin' then, cause no sensors. Gave me time to get known to the Fadin' Rooms. Until ya got me out. Hey, thanks by the way, for puttin' me back into somethin' neat that can at least talk and hear.”

“You seem to be quite... unshaken by this all.” wondered Kitty, her face clearly showing how worried she was.

“Bah. I knew for weeks that I won't make it out alive. Kay, wouldn't have thought that he was _this_ evil, but hey. I'm dumb. And by now I also know that I have nothin' left to live on for. My kids are dead. Both. He killed them. THAT was his revenge. Could stay by their side to get them through the Rooms, so now they are gone for good. No need to be upset. It's no use. No... no use.”

The mobile produced some sound close to a human trying to keep the tears down. A remarkable reaction given the fact that Lance sounded like an ordinary brute. And lacked eyes and a throat.

“We need to repair the deer suit.” said Springtrap, holding the phone a little bit tighter, as if to offer some support to the ghost in there.

“Okay, but wouldn't it be better just to get another robot? We have quite some spare...”

“No Kitty. Something else would never feel... good. Believe me. It's okay for me to be in some device for some time, but this suit here... will... will always be _me_. And I'm sure it will be the same for... well. Lance.”

“And then what?”

“Court needs to declare him 'other'.” continued Springtrap “After that... maybe you guys put him under oath?”

“What oath?” asked Lance, his voice still cracking.

“Everything connected to Fazaka Robotics Industries is rated high priority for our organization.” explained Kitty “We would keep you as witness, and erase your memory afterward, but since our methods to do this won't affect a specter, we decided to simply allow your kind to join our ranks.”

“Wanna turn me into a cop?! ME?!”

“Well, we could put you back into that flash light and lock you up eternally, if you prefer this.”

“Ow. Hey, arnt'cha supposed to be the good guys?!”

“Sometimes, the good and the bad are only distinguishable by their motives.”

“Okay okay. Guess I have not much of a choice, eh? Just... give me some days, kay? Was away far too long. Is it summer yet?”

“It's the first of October.”

“Fuuuuck... I've been kidnapped a year ago. Means I am dead for... at least five months.”

“And you spend this time in the Rooms?” asked Springtrap, both impressed and worried at the same time.

“Yeah.”

Kitty turned towards Springtrap.

“Is this something special? I do not really understand.”

“Time in the Fading Rooms follows different rules.” explained Springtrap “Maybe no rules at all. Whatever happens there is... extremely fast. I guess a second here is a day in the Rooms. So, if he was away half a year...”

Kitty nodded.

“Understood. We will offer you rehabilitation, Mister Copper. As soon as we rebuild your suit, that is.”

“And then?” asked the mobile.

Kitty seemed not sure.

“He should stay with me.” suggested Springtrap “I can teach him a thing or two about this specter thing. Also, as I said, court needs to declare him 'other', so he would have all his human rights and yadder yadder. He'd be safe in a prison. And...” Springtraps face changed a little bit “And we can see if we can trust him.”

Kitty nodded slowly.

“Well. We'll need to inform High Command first. But I think they will share your view.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**02.10.2020 – You will not go astray** (Resurrection 7)

 

 

“Random stranger I am not related to, you guys really have the strangest stories. If it wasn't so scary and sad, I'd love it. Where is he now?”

“They are still interrogating him.” replied Springtrap “Or perhaps they are already at the oath ceremony.”

“And then he's going to be an agent just like you?”

“Yep.”

“Voluntarily?”

“Mostly. He wants that this ghost lord is put down. Beside that... who knows.”

Shu didn't reply anything, and just watched her uncle finishing up his work.

While she had been busy with the body, Springtrap rebuild the head. He wanted to make sure that it was capable of expressing every emotion in a natural way. Just like his own. Even with her being the actual robotics specialist, Shu gladly stepped aside to let Springtrap work his magic. When it came to the expressions, he definitely was the more skilled engineer. Right now, he made the final adjustments, the stag head connected via a cable to his own body, so he could play around with the moving parts and maybe finetune them. He seemed pleased, and went over to the other operation table to hook the head up to the rest of the body.

“We're done.” he announced.

“Again, only the finest Afton handwork.” added Shu with a grin “You think he'll like it?”

“Yes. We are bound to our suits. The core, at least. Feels not good to be somewhere else for too long. And after he was in the Rooms for such an immensely long time, he probably needs a while to get used to a physical body again.”

“Is it really so bad in the Fading Rooms?”

“Not bad. Just strange. Like, you're forced to eat lunch in a public restroom.”

“Eww.”

“Exactly. You know that this is not the right place to be in, so you want to leave quickly. But if that's not possible because your real body doesn't support an actual person... Then you're stuck. Each second in the real world is a day or so in the Rooms. Sometimes more, sometimes less.”

“Got it. Poor fellow.”

“Yes. Maybe that's the reason I feel so... connected to him. I spend some time alone as well. Maybe it was different for me, but...”

“This is still troubling you a great deal, right? You don't talk about it often, but when you do you always end mid-sentence.”

“It is. Probably still my greatest nightmare. The therapists say I should talk about it, to make it clear to myself that this is the past. And yet I often fear that this all here just turns out to be a dream, and I wake up in that... tomb again. Alone, trapped, and forgotten.”

“Daddy never forgot about you. As long as I remember, he made sure to tell us about you. On your birthday, especially. If that helps.”

Springtrap sighed.

“It does. And I am grateful for that. But this stupid fear won't just go away because I know better. Ah, before I forget: There's a check for you on the desk next to the door.”

“Oh wow I get paid for having a fun time here?”

“Seems so.”

“Sign me up.”

“They will.”

Just in time, some people came into the lab. Bear and two other men. They had a lively conversation in French, but dropped out of it as soon as they entered.  
Bear glanced at the stag suit lying on the large table.

“Don't you tell me you're finished already.”

“Okay, I won't tell you that we are done, promise.” responded Shu.

“Jep, we're allowing you to find this out on your own.” added Springtrap with a sleek grin.

Bear seemed not happy. He pouted a little.

“And you left nothing for me to do. I couldn't even watch! That's so unfair!”

“Pff, you were busy with High Command and the juicy stuff, Mister Second-In-Charge-Replacement-Kitty.”

“Yeah, so forgive us simple folks that we got bored and tinkered a little.” said Shu.

Both grinned at each other.  
Bear crossed his arms.

“Believe me, I would skip these sessions with High Command if I could. They are creepy.”

“Creepy as fuck.” agreed the cell phone one of the other agents was holding.

Which reminded them all that there was still something to do.

“Hey buddy.” said Springtrap to the phone “Hope they weren't that pesky.”

“Ugh, don't get me started. Had the feelin' they wanted to squeeze all out of me. Ya guys do this all the time?”

“Only if we can't avoid it.”

“Great. Feel right at home. And who is this girl here?”

“I don't know. Never seen her before.” said Springtrap in return.

Shu giggled.

“Am I missin' out some joke?”

“Yep. By the way, what's your alias?”

“Uh, you mean the number?”

“No, the team-member name.”

“Oh. Stag.”

“You are kidding me, right?” said Springtrap with a taunting look at Bear.

Who just shrugged.

“Being creative with names is sadly not a requirement for becoming a commander. Beside, he's going to be with us.”

“Really? Isn't that a little... bad tactics? I mean, putting the two specters we have into the same team will surely reduce mobility.”

“Agreed, but High Command just put our team in charge of this whole Fazaka mess, so he would be with us anyway. Also, they hope that you two can help each other.”

“I'll see to this.” responded Springtrap “ Maybe we start to give you a body.”

“You rebuild the suit?” asked Lance curiously.

“Yes. Well. We added some improvements as well.”

Springtrap plugged the data cable into the cell phone.  
People waited a little, but nothing happened.

“Uhm. What am I 'sposed to do?” wondered Lance after some minutes passed.

“Travel through the cable.”

“What cable?”

“That one I just... don't you feel the new connection?”

“No?”

“Hm, strange... Maybe the cable is broken.”

Springtrap replaced it with another one. But again, nothing happened.

“Bro, I have no clue what ya want me to 'feel'.”

“Okay, how to break it down... do you... have any sense of your actual physical form?”

“No.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nope. I can hear ya and talk a little and... I seem to have an eye.”

“That's the camera of the cell phone you are in right now.”

“I'm in a cell phone?!”

Springtrap sighed.

“Oh boy. How can you... not feel this. I was in there, too. Had full knowledge about the whole thing.”

“Maybe because you have been a specter for thirty years?” suggested Bear “You are used to this body of yours.”

“Maybe. But the specter is supposed to... Hey, buddy, do you have any... feeling for your Shell System?”

“What the fuck is a Shell System and why should I have one?”

“That's the basic programming of the specter. It... you could call it the subconscious. You should be able to communicate with it.”

“No. How?”

“Just pretend to be a computer. Think like one.”

“I have no clue what a computer thinks like. Bro, I repaired ships when I was alive. I'm not a fuckin' technician.”

“Okay okay, drop it. I'll pull you.”

“Ya doin' what now?”

“See, I fiddled with computers when I was alive, and... as Bear said, I'm a specter for three decades by now, so I maybe have some knowledge that you're missing for this all to work.”

“Yeah, I'm a dumbass urchin. Halve the things people asked me went far over my head. And now I'm 'sposed to 'think like a machine'. Never felt that dumb before.”

“Makes us two dumb guys. Anyway. I'll try something. When you feel like something is grabbing you, just follow it.”

Springtrap started to coil some copper wire around the data cable that connected the phone with the suit.

“What are you planning, Bunny?” asked Bear with growing interest.

“I'll build a simple electromagnet and power it.”

“That is... not really how you create a-”

“I know. But I don't care. Screw physics, I'm an undead.”

He removed the casing of his fingertips, holding an end of the wire in each hand.  
To Bear's and Shu's surprise, it seemed to work. Even with Springtrap's makeshift magnet lacking an iron core, it somehow was able to create a magnetic field, pulling in some paper clips and a screw.

And Lance.

The lights of the stag suit went on. Orange. A nice, vibrant, warm orange.  
It took him a couple of moments to understand what just happened.

“I can't believe that worked...” mumbled Shu.

“Yeah, personally I just stopped trying to make sense of anything I do, as long as I works.” replied Springtrap.

“Whoaaaa.” was all Lance could say.

He was still lying there, rather stiff. And needed a couple of minutes to find his limbs. At first, his movements were sluggish and uncontrolled. Since he had been without a body for so long, actually moving parts of it seemed to be rather complicated.  
On the third attempt he finally managed to get up – supported by Bear and Springtrap.  
While still a little wobbly, he seemed rather happy about his regained mobility.

“Almost like it used to be.” he said “Just more metal. Too bad. Was more the Jazz fan.”

“At least you take it with humor.” mused Bear.

“Bro, I was enslaved by fuckin' ghosts and turned undead. Feelin' a little dizzy is nothin' compared.”

"True.”

“So. Wow. I have a body again. Thanks for that I guess. What now?”

“High Command decided that you will stay with agent Bunny for some time.”

“Uh, you guys know I have a home, right? I mean, yeah sure it's just a shack I build myself but it's a place to live in.”

“We know. But right now, you are legally not able to own anything, because you are still counted as dead. We are... a little bit faster when it comes to decision making, but still, a court needs to declare you a person. That may take a week or two. After that, you will again have access to everything you owned while alive.”

“Great.” and Lance looked at Springtrap “So it's you and me, then.”

“Urm... are you getting your own cell?” asked Springtrap.

“Wait, what? Cell?!”

“He will. Basically at the same conditions as you.” said Bear, then he quickly added “Not that I would know anything about this at all, since I only know you as agent Bunny, and no personal information were given to me at any time nor did I make my own research at all. Yes, I can play this game as well.”

 

“Okay, ya guys are family.”

“Right.”

“And ya goin' to drive us to the prison he's livin' in.”

“Correct.”

“And this all needs to be secret cause the rules say so.”

“Right, again. We found our way to work with this. Since, let's be honest: It's not really possible that you'd look at my uncle and mistake him for someone else.”

Lance glanced at Springtrap who was sitting next to him.

“Could go as Easter Bunny.”

“And you're Rudolph.” responded Springtrap with a smirk.

“Okay, serious now. I heard and read things. About _this_ guy, right? That's ya?”

“Yes. I am the guy who kidnapped sixteen children, between '82 and '88.”

“I know.”

And he stayed quite.  
Which confused Springtrap a little. Usually, a whole load of questions followed after this confession.

“Nothing to add from your side?” he finally dared to ask.

“No.”

“Puzzling.”

“Listen. After all this serious shit those creepos asked me, I need to talk about personal crap. And ya right the people who will go trough this. Here we go. In my life, I always tried to avoid goin' criminal. Bein' lower class usually means that ya get both hands dirty, or else ya die. Didn't want this. I know it's stupid, but so am I. Brought my own mother to court just to do the right thing. But then... I lost what little I had. The stable job I'd managed to get. And, after some event, lost my wife too. She left me alone with our two kids, and no job to feed 'em. Went from workin' to scavengin'. I know what it feels like wantin' to keep the little tiny thing ya have left. I... I don't know why I'm sayin' this to ya. Is not my usual thing to do.”

“My theory is, that since the specters are meant to work together, we are somehow linked. I mean, I instantly trusted you. That is nothing _I_ would do.”

“Maybe. What I wanted to say: The old me would have judged ya without mercy. Filthy criminals. But now... after all I went trough, and all this shit I've seen in the Rooms... There's no Black and White. It's all gray. Some dude like me tried his best to keep his nose clean. And in the end, I stole a truck, I broke into an old factory, I disposed corpses. All because someone made me to. Who's the bad guy? Without me fuckin' up repairin' that specter builder, maybe my kids would still be alive. So, does this make me a bad guy too? Or is it the dude who forced me? Who was, in turn, killed by ya? But then, yaself were forced somehow. And maybe, even the crazy witch that made ya do these things had her reason as well. And in the end, it took many people lookin' away so that all these things could happen in the first place. It's easy to point at some critter and simply hate 'em for what they've done. But maybe I would've done the same thing.”

Lance let out a long sigh.  
And for some minutes, silently stare at the road ahead.

“So... you were married?” dared Springtrap to ask, when the silence got a little bit uncomfortable.

“Technically, still am.”

“But she left?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Was not a real... ya know. This lovey cutey couple stuff. Long story short: Got her pregnant when I was nineteen. Again a year later. I loved my kids. Her, not so much. But I grew up without a father, and wanted to be a good guy. Worked hard to feed them all. Build a home. Kiddies went to school, I read trough their homework when I came back from work each evenin'. Okay, most things went over my head. But hey, that's a good thing, right? Cause it means the kids are doin' better than yaself.”

“What did you work as?”

“I'm trained to work with metal. Police handed me a nice sum of cash for bringin' my mom to court, and I used it to get myself some proper trainin'. Fixed boats in a luxury marina here in Boston. Went okay for some years, but then I got... replaced. By someone who did what I did, but in a more fabulous way. Fuckin' artist. Was job huntin' after this. Little here, little there. Until I was desperate enough to take this night guard at Fazbear Fright.”

“And now, you're secret service. That's quite a carrier leap.”

For the first time, Lance smiled a little. It was a shy, thin smile of a man who never had much time or opportunity to do this.

“Could say this, yeah.”

“And your wife was not happy when you got the boot?”

“Well. Not exactly. I... listen, I was really pissed. And she was... not very helpful. Guess, that in a real relationship, people try to help each other, right? Ours was more like, I worked ten hours per day, and she made sure the kids were feed. She said I should start dirty work like everyone else. Didn't want this. That, and me bein' home and grumpy, wasn't really helpin' to make things between us better. And hey. Turned out my dear always used to make some coin workin' the streets. She didn't ask me. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's her life and all, but it's dangerous. My own mom was a whore, and it leads ya to bad people. Also, it's fuckin' unhealthy. All this sick stuff she could herself get infected with. Not to think about all these dangerous assholes that just take what they want. I didn't really like Cindy – my wife – but I was worried. And then again, she didn't add her earnin's to the household. Maybe we could've send the kids to a better school. Get them better food. Or a tutor. But no, nothin'. Wasn't my best moments, I guess. Spend much time outside. Hangin' with homies.”

“And that she didn't like?”

“Hah. It's more like, one of them did all this emotional support thing, and maybe he fell a little in love with me and I was down enough to have some sex with him. THAT she didn't like.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Still don't know why. I confessed to her rather quickly. And I mean... she was whorin' behind my back all that time. Some of my homes were gay. Some of her's. Heck, she was besty when her best friend married a trans women. But suddenly, when I turned out to be... a little bit more open than I thought, she threw a fight. She locked herself in the bedroom. And when I came back from my daily grind, she was gone. Left a note sayin' she won't be around my 'spoiled genes'.”

“Ouch. She left you _and_ her own kids?”

“Yeah. That. As if it was their fault that I'd been stupid enough to fuck another dude out of frustration. Oh. Hey, am I even allowed to talk about this in front of ya niece? How old is she?”

“The fact that I am driving right now should be enough to answer this, right?” responded Shu.

“Yeah. Sorry. Ugh. Still not used havin' actual people around me again.”

“I feel you. Took me months to get used to talking again.”

“Your asshole wife probably just waited to dumb you anyway.” said Shu “Bet she had another guy at hand.”

“Ya sure? But the kids...”

“Oh, believe me, this thing with 'women are natural mothers and will defend their kids at all cost' is just utterly rubbish. Mothers are mothers. But not every woman is a mother.”

“Who would leave kids behind?!”

“Assholes. Like I said.”

“That's harsh. I mean... I knocked her up. It's not that she planned this.”

“Did you rape her?”

“Wh- fuckin' hell no!”

“Did she say 'yes'?”

“Uh... it's more that I didn't say 'no'.”

“Then she knew what she was in for. True, you got her pregnant, but if she was fine with this, it's as much her decisions as it was yours. That she left both you and your kids because of some triviality is not really putting some shine on her personality. What was her name again?”

“Cindy...”

“Was she younger than you?”

“One year older. Knew her from school. She said she'd always a crush on me.”

“Let me guess: She was your first.”

“Yes.”

“And you believed this?”

“Yes.”

“Let me guess again: You already had your job back then?”

“Was doin' nicely, yeah.”

Shu sighed.

“Oh wow... It's always the same. Women get dumped, men get tricked. Are you even sure that it was _your_ kids?”

“Had my eyes. Even if not, I was their dad.”

“Pff. And suddenly, after you lost your stable income, she decided to leave you and your kids behind.”

“Two years, actually.”

“She probably just waited for a good opportunity to leave with her 'honor' intact. Dude. You got seriously tricked.”

“But-”

“Was she doing anything?”

“She who-”

“Beside this thing she didn't tell you about.”

“Kept the house. And feed the kids.”

“Oh wow. She cleaned the place she was living in and kept her offspring from starving. Bravissimo.”

“Why're ya so angry?”

Shu glanced at Springtrap. Then her view went back to the opening gate of the prison.

“Let me phrase it this way: Some current events in my family led me into questioning the status quo. And the fact that so many people think that us women are innocent saints. We are just humans like you men. We are as capable, and as wicked, as you. And now you guys better go in, or else I'll start a lecture about feminism.”

The van left the parking plot rather quickly. Leaving Springtrap, and a somewhat confused Lance behind.

“Did I say somethin' bad?”

“Ah, no, don't worry. She's... getting worked up quite fast when it comes to social issues. And since she grew somewhat close to me in the last months, I guess my story didn't help with that at all.”

“Noted. Uhm. I... I still don't know ya name. Are we allowed to use our real names?”

“Yes, we are. Just pretend to be someone else when we're working. I call it agent-mode. And my name is Springtrap.”

“That... is an odd name.”

“Meh, worth a try. It's William. William Afton. But I prefer the other one.”

“Springtrap, huh? Fitting. What am I then? Stagtrap? Claptrapstagtrap. Hm.”

“Ah, I don't have a strong connection to my given name. Wasn't called that my whole life. Got many titles, tho. Runt, brother, Purple Guy... good boy.... very good boy... Purple Monster. Springtrap was the first ting people called me when I got out of my tomb. And the first months in here, they were not allowed to use my real name. So it still sticks.”

“Uh, is it okay if I call ya bro? I'm doin' this with everyone without askin'. Bad habit. Like the 'ya'. Last remnants of my street slang. I tried to get rid of it so my kids would learn proper English.”

“It's fine. When I came here, I cursed like a madman. I think my language got better since I spend much time with all those psychiatrists, and my family of course.”

They arrived at the back entrance of the prison. While Springtrap routinely rang the bell and waited to be let in, Lance was growing more and more nervous. He absentmindedly rubbed the metal antlers of his head.

“Ya life here?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“It's easier for the therapists. Also, I... I am not really ready to be out in the public. Not alone, at least. I mean. I did _kidnap_ children. Basically sold them.”

“Got it.”

The door opened.  
To Lance's surprise, the guard was smiling. He even hugged Springtrap. And shook Lance's hand. Just a minute later, they were inside, the guard led them trough long, bland hallways, into a somewhat more pleasant part. It was almost nice.

“Is tha-”

“Yes, it's still part of the prison.” responded Springtrap.

“Wow.”

“I'm pretty sure people first want to talk to you. The admin, at least. I'll get you there.”

“Isn't it a little bit... unusual to let people freely wander 'round a heckin' prison?”

“I'm not an inmate. And you are technically a walking corpse, so who's going to stop you?”

Springtrap brought Lance to the third floor, and to an office. Still unwilling to believe that this bright, pastel painted hallways were an actual prison, Lance sure was nervous. He tried his best to not let it show.

Not more than a minute later, he was sitting at a fancy looking desk, in front of him a young Aztec, surrounded by brightly glowing screens and other techy nicknacks.  
Nervous, indeed. Very nervous.

“Soooo... you are our newest undead, hm?” said the admin after reading a couple of papers “Welcome aboard, Mister Copper. We're a federal prison, but this section here offers help to committees in need of psychiatric therapy. You probably know this, right?”

“Urm, I tried my best to keep away from prison, and crime in general.”

“I know. Your police file is mostly empty.”

“Wha- mostly?!”

Admin threw a look at a nearby screen.

“Yep. Someone reported you missing some months ago. Beside this, nothing else in there.”

“Who did that?”

“Some Bronko Toriello.”

“Fuck.” Lance looked truly devastated to hear this name.

“Anyway. Right now, you are a dead person. I dare to say that we have some experience with something like this, but we need a decision from court before we can do anything regarding your remains and whatever you still may own. So far, we keep you as 'evidence' in a cell here. Unfortunately, that means you can't leave the prison. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, I guess. Runnin' 'round in a stag suit isn't somethin' I would want anyway. Not without papers. Uh... you guys surely need some legal stuff, right?”

“Indeed. We already got an analysis of your bodie's DNA, but they don't match anything in our database.”

“Sure they don't. I was a good guy.” answered Lance with a hint of pride in his voice “Had a job, paid taxes, didn't do anythin' wonky. Not even a parkin' ticket. Cause no car.”

“Impressive. Still we need to identify you, and make sure that this corpse is really...”  
Lance sighed.

“Okay... have an idea. Ya guys have a file 'bout my mother. Tina Copper. Born sixth of May, 1972.”

Despite being a little doubtful, Admin typed in the given information. And looked surprised.

“We have indeed. Quite some, in fact. She is-”

“In jail. For eleven years by now. And just look up the name of the guy who leaked information to the cops.”

“Main witness... Lance Copper.”

“Lance Jaden Finnegan Copper.”

“Indeed. You blackmailed your own mother?”

“Bro, that's, like, my duty, isn't it? Mom was a whore. Titty Tina. Figure why she got that name. But someday, she got me. And, let's say, time wasn't kind to her. She started to deal with drugs, and pretty fast became a fence, thanks to her connections from her earlier work. When I learned that, I made sure to pop her big deals. And ultimately brought her to court. Like I said: I'm a fuckin’ good guy.”

Admin seemed not convinced.

“This may match what is written here, but how...”

“Just compare her DNA with mine. She's my mother after all.”

“This will take another day.”

“Ya won't let me just go and pick up stuff from my home, right?”

“As long as we can't identify you, no.”

“Fine. 'nother idea. Remember that Toriello dude from earlier? I could call him. He is someone who... is... he is...”

“Yes?”

Lance shook his head as if to get back to his former though.

“Could go into my house and get things like birth certificate and such. I hide it, in a strong box I build myself. But he'd be able to get it open since he knows my place rather well.”

“Why that?”

“Why? Ugh. He's the reason my wife left me. He... cared. He listened. Gave advice. Tried to help. Ya know, the stuff ya should expect from your significant other. Get ya guess how that ended. I cheated on my wife. With a guy. Okay, I thought, that happens. Can't be the perfect guy, everyone makes mistakes, just tell her. But she wouldn't listen. Talked about how hard it is to be the single bread winner of a family of four. Bla bla like if I didn't knew. Went back to Brody. Was kind of... a regular thing now. Someday I just sat Cindy down to talk about this. I mean, yeah, it was me who cheated, but then again it was not all roses and sunshine in our marriage anyway, so we gotta work that out. Bro. Ya have no idea. She threw so much shit at my head and left me. Us. Was hard. Already was at my limit work-wise, but what to do? Had to feed two growin' kids. Also, I had to shift my hours, so I could care for them when they came from school. Bad thing: I'm a welder. Buildin' stuff in the night is nothin' that happens too often, so I really had to get somethin' else. Got me desperate. And when it comes to lettin' ya kids starve, ya be willin' to take every job. Even when it's night guard at a haunted, cursed place where people got lost in for over five decades. In the end, all was failure. Lost my job, lost my wife, and got my own kids murdered by the same guy who murdered me. So, that's _why_. Happy now?”

Admin looked confused. Which made Lance's anger only grow.

“Forget it.” he rumbled “I just wait for the lab to confirm that I am my mother's brat.”

“I do not understand this sudden outbreak.”

“Bro. Dude. Mate. That guy would be the dude I had desperate angry sex with. He knows my place cause I humped him up and down there.”

“Why are you so angry, Mr. Copper?”

“Cause I'm fuckin' _dead_?! I don't even know if he is still alive. Oh my god don' look at me like that. I have no idea why I am so mad right now, kay? I just am. Let me be.”

Admin had his thoughts, but didn't allow them to surface. After all, he was doing this sort of things for forty years. Being augmented meant that time was kind to him, but people were not always.

“I could offer you regular counseling with a therapist.” he said.

Lance looked up.

“Ya think I'm mad?!”

“Hm, let me have a quick look... grown up in the toxic society that is the United States of America, got your hopes and dreams crushed, got cheated on by your wife, cheated back on her, got dumped, forced to work under unethical conditions just to keep your kids alive, which led to you being literally enslaved by ghosts. And ultimately killed in a horrible way. After that, you spend a far too long timespan in a place mortals are not meant to visit, just to be literally resurrected and put into a stag shaped robot.” Admin looked up from his screen again “Excuse me for being honest, but that's quite some fertile soil for mental health issues.”

Lance opened his mouth to respond something, but since nothing came out, he just shut it again.  
Admin put on an amicable expression.

“This is an offer, nothing more. You will surely be some three weeks in here, why not use that time.”

“Never seen a doctor my whole life.” answered Lance “I... I don't have money for something like this. Heck, I was away almost a year, some asshole probably broke into my shack and got what little cash I had, there's literally noth-”

“It's free.”

“Nothing on this damned planet is free.” growled Lance back.

“I think you already paid quite something to get help.” was Admin's respond.

Again, Lance was left speechless. Admin typed a little on his keyboard.

“Doctor Piers would have a spare hour tomorrow.”

“I'm not broken. He should spend his time on someone who really needs it. Can we go back to the other issue?”

“Alright. Getting some documents could do the trick, especially if someone could verify that you are you.”

“So ya wanna call Brody?”

"Excuse me?”

“Er, Bronko. He's called Brody. I mean, what kind of name is 'Bronko' anyway.”

“Good to know. I'll call him. Do you have his number? Else I'd need his whole address.”

Admin handed Lance a notepad.  
While Lance was writing, Admin prepared a micro, and produced a headset for himself.

“That's his number.” said Lance, handing the note back “I just hope he didn't get a new one in the past... er... six... or so months.”

The admin nodded, typing in the number.

“Since this is an official call, it'll be on tape. Is this all right with you?”

Lance didn't seem to be too happy about this, but he nodded anyway.  
Admin turned on some speakers, readjusted his headset, and pointed on the wide range micro Lance was supposed to talk into.

It took three rings for the other end to answer.

“Uhm yeah? This is Brody?”

“Good day Mr. Toriello, this is Boston Police Department.” started Admin.

“Oh shit.”

“Nothing to worry, we just have some question for you. Do you know a person by the name Lance Copper?”

“Oh SHIT! Yes! Yes I do! I called you! I said he was missing, the heck that's ten months now!”

“Please calm down Mr. Toriello. We call you to inform you about Mr. Copper's whereabouts. In fact, he would like to have a talk with you.”

“The sh-”

“Hey, bro.” said Lance, trying to sound not as shaken as he really was.

“LANCE! Oh my fucking god Lance!” screamed Brody “Bro! I thought you were gone for good! DUDE! Heard you were missing at this fucking horror shit, thought you were dead! Dude what the fucking heck?!”

“Yeah, I was close.”

“What the hell happened?!”

“Got kidnapped. Is a long story, bro.”

“Oh my fuck where are you?!”

“Cops try to get me back in shape.”

“Oh my god bro I have bad news. Really bad.”

“I know. They are dead.”

“Bro you have no CLUE! Cindy took them in and her place is a crater! Its like a fucking bomb went off! And there is ICE! Fucking ice all over the place! Oh gosh bro I'm so sorry! Dude, when I heard you were missing I tried to look out for your little ones but they already were at Cindy's. Dude I'm sorry, really, but I can't have kids in here.”

“It's okay. In the end, that would have got ya killed as well.”

“Bro, dude, mate, I'm so so sorry.”

“Thanks, man. I need ya to do somethin' for me. Ya still have the keys I gave ya when we started fuckin'?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Okay, could ya please go to my place and get some papers? Ya know, birth certificate, ID and stuff like this. Remember that ugly paper mask hangin' in the livin' room? The stuff is hidden within there. Also, there should be a strong box with cash hidden under that one loose tile in the bathroom. The code is ya birthday. Get the stuff, and bring it to State Prison. Some guard will take it. But, bro, if the cash wasn't stolen by now, keep it. Ya'll need it more than I do.”

“Hey wha- bro, can't I see you?! It's been almost a year, I though you were fucking dead! I... I missed you, bro.”

“I missed ya too. But I.. I am not really myself right now. Ya probably won't even recognize me.”

“Dude. What the fucking hell?! You're not telling me the truth! What is up with you?!”

Lance always had been a bad liar. But he had had some relationship with Brody, so it was no wonder the other easily saw trough this scheme. He sighed, took a short look at Admin, then he decided to just dish out the facts.

“Kay, bro. If I tell ya, will ya still get my stuff here?”

“Sure thing!”

“Good. Okay. Ya probably heard this thing with the dude stuck in the bunny robot?”

“The shit with Fazbear? About that zombie guy? Sure did. TV's been talking about nothing else for days.”

“Yes. Ya know the place I worked at was the very same they found the dude. I... I've been turned into on of these things.”

It took Brody a moment to react on this.

“Oh fuck.”

“Sorry bro.”

“So you _are_ dead?! They murdered you and put you in one of these bunnies?!”

“It's a stag, but yeah.”

“You're a zombie now?”

“No, the corpse is gone. Just me and the robo suit.”

“Oh fucking hell this is sick shit... I... Bro. Lance. I still love you. No matter what you are.”

Now, it was Lance's turn to choke on his words.

“T-thank you.”

“Can I see you?”

“I don't know. I... I don't know what will happen now. I was away so long and now I have to get used to this stupid stag suit and people want me to do shit and I still don't know what to do right now I mean my kids are dead what is there left to do anyway. I'm tired, bro. Really tired. Give me some days maybe. I'd like to see you, too, but can't leave this here place. As long as I am not a real person.”

“I'll get your stuff, Lance.” responded Brody, who sounded like he was crying “But promise me to call me soon. When I can see you. It's been a fucking year and I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. I... I get your stuff now. Bye.”

And the connection was cut off.

Admin stopped the tape, and typed a little bit on his keyboard.

“Doctor Piers would be free tomorrow, two pm. Sounds good?”

Lance nodded.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**03.10.2020 – Though shadows fall** (Resurrection 8)

 

 

“And ya be doin' this all day?”

“Yes.”

"For a year now?”

“Yep.”

“Bro.”

“I know. Exhausting, isn't it?”

“I thought I was doin' fine.” responded Lance without lifting his head from the table “Then came that doc and now I feel all broken.”

“If it calms you down a little: I learned that this is part of life. Like you'd supposed to cut your finger now and then, you'll end up with a dent or two in your mind. Not all of them are mental illness. Question is, if it affects you or not. If you suffer. I did. I knew that. Felt it. Wanted it to end. When you're overall fine, then those little dents are fine, too.”

“Then, why am I so miserable now?”

“Probably because you hid your problems from yourself. Build a wall around them and pretended to be perfectly fine. Many people do this. And when that wall finally breaks down, they drown in all the shit they piled up over the years.”

“Ya sound like a doc yaself, know that?”

“Heh. Thanks, I guess. I do spend much time thinking about what they tell me. And there is much to read about this on the web. It's amazing when you see that random crap that's going on in your head put into proper words on paper. Or, on screen. Helps. I mean. For so long I was alone with me and my own mind, and now there are people around who understand. Who say things to me that somehow help me understand myself. Maybe you will get to know yourself better as well.”

“I don't like that dude. He let his kids die.”

“And himself.”

“Yes. That, too.”

“If you wanna talk about it...”

“Is not much to talk. I know, 'twas only some months on this side, but for me, it felt like years. Is all so far away. Happened in 'nother life, 'nother time. I made peace with the death of my kids. My own death. Almost forgot what it is like to be alive. To be physical. What the sky looks like, the air feels like. So many shit ya won't think about while busy not starvin'.

“I know.”

“Yeah.” finally, Lance looked up again “Hey, Springles. Ya probably the only person who understands me, right?”

“More than you think.” responded Springtrap “I forgot what the rains smelt like. I forgot the sun, the moon, the stars. Pizza. Man, I'd kill for some pizza.”

“And now we're both back. Ya came out of ya tomb, I came out of the Rooms. Almost like we started a new life, eh?”

“Yes. In fact, my brother plans to have some party in a couple of days. Seventh of October. The day I got out of my tomb. Has been a year. So much happened. So very much that all those years alone almost seem... like a bad dream.”

“A second birthday, huh? Nice idea.”

“Isn't it? First we were not sure which day. The other would've been the day Vincent and I got reunited.”

“Bro... what was this like? I mean... meetin' someone who was close to ya...”

Springtrap put his drawing stuff down, and turned around. He thought a moment about his respond.

“Strange.” he stated “I don't know why. Probably because I somehow assumed that nobody from my time was still alive. They contacted him behind my back. And some day, when I really needed help, he was simply there. He hugged me. And it was like it used to be all those years ago. I cried, he hugged. Like it always had been. So much changed, and yet he still is my brother.”

“And now? Much different than when you'd been alive?”

“Sure. We both were broken back then. He made it out of the pit, and I am on my way.”

“I mean... between ya two.”

“Oh. Oooooh. Hm. If different, then only better. Are your worried about that dude?”

“Brody. Yes. Very. Still don't know what this... between the two of us was. Don't really understood it back then, and am still not sure. Just not sure. I'm tired, bro. Tired of all this thinkin'. Not used to think this much. But what else to do in the Rooms.”

“Sleeping helps.”

“What? Sleep? But... we're dead. And robots.”

Springtrap raised his brows.

“You tell me you were up the last nights?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“After I literally pulled you out of hell? After you were killed by horrible technology? After you spend months a slave for ghosts?”

“When ya put it like that, it sounds bad.” responded Lance, equally surprised and worried.

“You really should sleep. Believe me, it helps.”

“But... but how?”

“Just... lay down, close your eyes, and don't think.”

Lance didn't say anything in return, but didn't look convinced at all.

“Maybe that is one of the things I am supposed to teach you...” continued Springtrap “If it helps, you can use my bed. Just try it. I promise it'll help calm your nerves and clear your head.”

“... okay.” said Lance, and despite his doubts, he got up, walked over to the bed, and dropped down.

He was lying there quite stiff and awkward, waiting for something to happen.  
Springtrap shook his head.

“Don't tell me this is how you slept when you were alive.”

“I don't remember.”

“Relax. It helps to pretend to take a deep breath or two. Just trick your mind a little. It is still human. Will do all the work if you let it.”

“If you say so...”

“Shh. Sleeping time.”

Lance stayed quite, and so Springtrap went back to his drawing.  
It took him some minutes to get back into it. He tried to redraw something from earlier. Nothing too special. Just some sort of plant in a pot, but probably was the first drawing he ever had finished. And now he was curious if a year's time of practice would already show. So far, he was quite happy.

An hour went by, maybe even two.  
Springtrap only realized the time when he had to turn on the desk light.

With his drawing done, he had an online chat with Shu who ranted about a project of a fellow student, that had been presented today. She did not at all agree to her professor's high opinion about this work. She even showed a picture of the guy's blueprint.  
'That's a water cooler glued to a lawnmower.' Springtrap wrote.  
To which his niece replied 'Omg thank you finally someone with taste!'.  
After quickly looking up what 'omg' was supposed to mean, he typed back that one didn't need any taste to see a lawnmower at was it was.

However, he heard something.  
Someone opened the door. It was almost too silent to be heard. The scratching of pencil on paper would have been enough to drown out the silent creak of the cell's door.

He quickly typed 'Have to work', and closed down the chat window.

“Good evening, Agent Bunny, Agent Stag.” said Kitty.

“Someday I'll hear you coming.”

“I hope not.” she responded with a bland smirk “Because that would mean I'm getting bad at this. Which could end up in a failed mission.”

“Ultimately caused by your death.”

“You are a quick learner. Let's hope you will be able to keep that up in your next mission. Is... Stag listening at all?”

Springtrap threw a quick glance over his shoulder.

“Nope. Sleeping.”

“He... sleeps.”

“I told him to. Seems like a swarm of thoughts is buzzing around in his head.”

“I understand. May we... wake him?”

“Nope again. Let him sleep. Really. I'll tell him what you told me.”

A second or two, Kitty didn't look like she was fine with that. But she quickly decided to leave it to Springtrap to work this out. While Kitty herself was quite experienced to avoid death, _being_ dead was clearly nothing she could claim to have any expertise in.  
And she didn't intend to change that anytime soon.

“Very well.” she said, sitting down at the table “I am here to fill you in. The Agency set the judicial system into motion, and while we wait for those decisions to be made, High Command has some... unique task for you.”

“'Unique' doesn't sound like something I'd want to be part of. That usually is just a fancy way to say 'nobody really has any clue what things are going to happen'.”

Kitty smiled a little, and slightly shook her head.

“You quite have some talent to put things into words. To calm your nerves: This should not be dangerous at all. But before I brief you about this mission, I suppose the two of you talked about the current situation?”

“Indeed.”

“Good. Please tell me your thoughts.”

“Urm, why?”

“High Command informed me, but a quarter of this knowledge was already gone before they sedated me to deliver me back to my flat. The other quarter never left my flat. And what little I still had faded away the moment I stepped into this cell. I barely remember what your mission was about.”

“Wow.”

“Before you ask, yes, I am really angry that I still am unable to leave this pattern. But since this is also true for everyone else, including High Command, and even our most advanced technology seems to be unable to prevent that we forget or doubt, I need to accept this.”

“Okay... I... I try my best. Erm. Okay. So, you are aware that I...I just call him an asshole, he truly was. Good thing he's dead. So, this asshole once decided to kidnap some children? Amongst them was a teenager. I do not know his name, but I remember his face. Didn't look like the murderous type, but oh well, neither did I, right? I mean, that asshole. Oh crap, I just drop this shit. Pretend I am talking about someone else, will you?”

“I am pretending.”

“Good. You know the truth anyway. So. This teen. He was my last one. I admit that even if I remember him, I don't really remember... me. The doc says that the further away I move from crazy me, the less I will understand what I thought and did back then. He's right. However. That teen. Quick and silent. My part, at least. I saw what she left of him. Was not pretty. Hey, I've seen quite some corpses, but that was... a whole different tier. Lanc- the other dude here says- oh screw it.”

“He said that?”

“Ugh. Give me a second.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Murdering. Now. The teen. Lance said, the... more a death differs from a natural one, the more likely it is that the ghost will stay on this side of the Veil. We both don't really know how and why, since there is a difference between undead and ghosts, so, a ghosts who can't leave is not like an undead. I... I don't really know where the difference is, but there is one. Maybe it is that the ghost simply can't find their path. That... that could very much be it. Their sudden and violent death maybe disrupts the Rooms... or so. Anyway. The teen died in a very, very, _very_ horrible way. I know where I put him. I stuffed the pieced of his corpse into that ugly puppet character.”

“The Marionette.”

“Yes. But I can't say that.”

“Why?”

“I can't. In the sense of, am unable to pronounce it.”

“What?”

Springtrap sighed.

“Fine, laugh at me: Marynett.”

Kitty needed a second to react. Springtrap just crossed his arms and looked the other way, sporting a pouty little frown.

“Yeah sorry, I never attended High School, and my parents didn't exactly teach me any French.”

“Say it again.”

“No.”

“Please.

“NO!”

“I beg you.”

“Fucking Marynett! Happy now?!”

“Oh my god. You are aware that I spend twenty minutes in front of a mirror, saying this darned word again and again just to not screw it up, right?”

“Good Joke, Miss Perfect.”

It was Kitty's turn so sigh now. She did away with the last pieces of her usual countenance, and offered her hand.

“Hi, I'm Shannon Pilcher. My father was a mariner who got my mother pregnant, and left. No need to mention that growing up on this nations' streets gets your hands dirty. I used to empty peoples' pockets and steal credit cards. In fact, the Agency bailed me out of prison because they desperately needed some young, innocent looking girl to raid a gang of sex traffickers. I definitely don't speak a single word french. Actually, I am not good at language at all, since I have quite a nice case of dyslexia. I am grateful for the implants, by the way, but those can only do so much. Whatever education I have was all gained _after_ they brought me into the Agency because I am freakishly good at hiding and sneaking. And that's that.”

Springtrap blinked two times.

“Did you just break the rules?”

“I did.”

“But...”

“Oh screw it. This whole mess already bent and broke around seven basic directives. Seriously, we are hunting ghosts and possessed robots build by someone who knew how to create undead. Our rules are nice and good for everyday business. But this here is definitely nothing I would call 'common'.”

“Woooow. You... you just turned from a comic book super heroine into a normal person.”

She grinned.

“And there wasn't even a mask I could drop.” Kitty booped his nose “But don't let this go to your head, Bunny. I am still your superior. And a top agent. Now. Care to get back to this ghost teen with this very unpleasant name?”

Springtrap shut his mouth.  
And had to shake his head several times to get back to the flow.

“Yes. Yes, the teen. Puppet teen. Okay. Back to the teen. He died. Was in pieces. Honestly, I don't remember that I stuffed him away. That day wasn't really my best day, mind-wise. I mean... it's not really important what I remember about that puppet guy anyway. Doesn't matter. Okay. Listen. It's the suits. The robots. They all carry a piece of this blue metal, which affects... ghosts. Somehow. Originally, this was supposed to allow a specter to power them, and putting a tiny spark of eldritch energy into this metal chip. It is almost like a microchip you'd put in a computer. Just for ghosts and the eldritch. That way, Fazaka made sure that a robot didn't carry any crucial information around. You could say, that was how they programmed the robots. Without putting any actual code into them. You understand?”

“No.” responded Kitty.

“Great. Fuck. Keep it together Springtrap.” and he pulled his ears down.

“Let's just go back to the metal. Element S13.”

“Yes.”

“It is somehow linked to not only the specter, but ghosts as well?”

“Exactly. Seems they couldn't have it only one way. It allows the specter to toy around with the robots, but also the ghosts. See, ghosts have only a limited supply of eldritch energy. I think they... got some when they died. Maybe they even briefly stayed in the Fading Rooms. Or so. I don't know. Fact is, they can't replenish their energy. Each action in the living world draws some of their power. They run out, and they are forced back into the Rooms. Moving physical objects is quite exhausting. Even more so without the proper experience. Fazaka somehow found this... cursed blue shit somewhere, and put it into their hellish machines. While it still costs a ghost some eldritch spark, this is greatly reduces, compared to other objects not made of the blue shit.”

“What has this to do with the Marionette?”

“I'm getting to this part soon. You need to understand the basics. Not eldritch, no haunting. Got it?”

“I did.”

“Good. Now to the Mary.... Puppet. Lance said that this dead teen dished out quite some sorcery. Not only did he manipulate matter like a pro, but all this ice we found was also his work. That should not be possible. He would run out of power in not time. In fact he shouldn't even have enough to play around with nature's laws the way he did. Even a very angry teen who died a very horrible death is not supposed to use fucking sorcery. But I am starting to put these things together. He has a specter under his control.”

“A specter? Mark two?”

“Yes.”

“So... we have at least another specter running around. That is not good at all.”

“Yep, but it gets better. See, originally, a specter is not a sorceror. Sorcery needs will. A strong will, forcing the eldritch into this world. Specters should only be able to do this fancy electrical stuff and maybe interact with the blue shit. The last part seems to be what this ghost teen is employing to have his way. He... brought the specter under his control. I guess this is something Fazaka didn't think of. Blue metal goes both ways. That is in fact the reason that the ghosts I produced, and that were by-catch at Freddy's, were so drawn to the robots. It's like perfect vessels for them, and they happen to have a specter to power them, so they won't use up any eldritch power at all. The puppet, being the head of this whole gang, seems to be able to... tap into the eldritch using the specter as a gateway. Since the specter has no will on its own... and hey, maybe it even is broken.”

“You are kidding me.”

“Nope. What we have here is a vengeful teenager, who somehow is able to harness the eldritch power of an undead under his control. Lance said this guy wants to continue what Fazaka had to abandon.”

“An army of independent animatronic monsters.”

“You got it.”

Kitty pinched the root of her nose, and started to process everything she just heard. Judging by her face rapidly switching from confusion to anger, and from anger to fear, she definitely got the point.

“A teenage sorceror.”

“Yes.”

“With an army of robots.”

“U-huh.”

“And a specter.”

“Maybe more than one.”

“Anything else?”

“He has knowledge about Fazaka's machinery.”

“What? How?!”

“Found it in the Rooms. Probably.”

“Probably?!”

“That's what Lance said the puppet told him. We both don't know how. The Fading Rooms are indeed a stash of memories, but... So far, I only stumbled over random crap. Even Lance couldn't figure out how to force the Rooms to show him something he wanted to see, and he's been in there for the equivalent of years. Maybe, ghosts have an easier time interacting with the Rooms. I won't know. The kids I let die had their way with me, and that allowed them to take a view into the Fading Rooms without entering themselves. It is not that I provided them with the knowledge they wanted, I was just... the gateway.”

“Okay, just finish me already. Is the Marionette able to create more specters?”

“Yes.”

“I sum it up: There is a ghostly mastermind, equipped not only with a specter at his whims, but also sorcery. He leads an army of robots haunted by ghosts. And he has the theoretical knowledge needed to produce more specters, which will lead to more robots.”

Springtrap just nodded.

And Kitty produce a long and deep sigh.

“And here I hoped that the last bits of what I remembered from the talk with High Commands were just me making things up. God, I am tired of this whole forgetting-stuff. There has to be a way for us to share lasting information without the need to talk to you or Lance directly. We can't even put you on tape. Letting High Command listen to our talks wasn't any help either. No, it has to be from face to face.”

“Sorry.”

“It's not your fault... I just... developed this need to have everything under control. Which I am surely not able to if I am supposed to deal with ghosts, undead, sorcery, and supernatural knowledge that erases itself from my mind.”

“Well, there you have it. Lasting memories about this heck being surely fucking serious shit.”

“Thank you, I guess.”

“You're welcome. Now. What's the mission you have for us?”

Kitty shrugged.

While Springtrap had seen her unhappy or angry about situations, her being completely unaware of anything regarding objectives was new.

“Oookaaay. You forgot.”

She nodded.

“Great. Have you written it down maybe?”

“If I have... let me check.” answered Kitty, and she leaned to the side, possibly rummaging trough a hidden pocket, or even her shoe.  
To her own surprise, she produced a scrap of paper, which she now stared at.  
Springtrap just picked it out of her hand.

“Let me see. Hm... The Agency has several undead contacts?”

“Seem so?”

“And hm bla bla... Lance and I are supposed to meet up with one of these. You're sending us of to an other undead? I presume to learn something. Hm. That's not a bad idea, actually. Sadly no details about who this might be. Is a little bit strange to think about that those... people exist. Hm... they are probably, like, real undead. With rotting corpses. Note to self: turn of nose.”

“Did I at least write down the time?”

Springtrap squinted his eyes.

“Uh, there is some writing with numbers, but...”

“Oh god please just put me into the trash where I belong.”

“Aww, don't be so harsh. If even High Command has to write- hey.” he flipped the note “They DID. And they're lacking all the stuff you remembered.”

“And this is any good because?”

“A half and a half makes a whole. But now I really want to know... I mean, if they already had some undead at their hands, then why... hm probably forgot this. Again, and again. We really need to figure something out.”

“Absolutely. While we keep forgetting basic things, that haunted Marionette is creeping through the shadows. We still don't know where the specter from Rochester had been made. The other places in New York City didn't offer any form of hint. High Command is moving in every agent they can. We are turning every gravestone in the hope to find a tiny piece of information. It is unbelievable how Fazaka just turned into thin air without leaving a single hint.”

Springtrap still looked at the note he was holding, not answering.  
He was thinking. Turning the piece of paper around a couple of times, absentmindedly.  
When he finally looked up, he seemed very worried.

“Shadows, hm?”

“What...?”

“Fazaka. In the shadows. People forgot them. The world forgot them. They forgot.”

“I don't really get what you try to tell me.”

He put the note down.  
Just for the fracture of a second, Springtrap looked like a maniac. Or maybe that was just Kitty's imagination. The sedative High Command used to quietly move people around was not exactly a blessing for one's health. And it wasn't designed to be applied that often. Actually, she couldn't remember the last night she fell asleep naturally.  
Kitty rubbed her temples.

“Bunny, please... I am too tired and frustrated to pick up hints.”

“And I am too shocked to cut down the drama. Kitty. Forgetting. Fazaka has been forgotten. Like you guys keep forgetting everything that has to do with the Fading Rooms. That... that means... They... they came out of the Rooms.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**06.10.2020 – Still the Stars find their Way** (Resurrection 9)

 

 

“How is that even possible.” wondered Lance.

Springtrap didn't say anything in return. Barely able to keep himself from stumbling over his own feet. An exceptional picture: a stag, practically carrying a bunny out of the airport.

“Seriously, last time ya ate somethin' was decades ago, why ya even remember how to barf?!”

“Keeps things exciting.” mumbled Springtrap back “Oh boy that fuuuucking plane...”

He gagged.  
Lance just shook his head again.

“There's no muscles in there and still...”

“How on earth could _you_ handle this shit so well...”

“Was a boat mechanic.”

“Oh goood...”

“Also, I'm still not used to this whole body stuff.”

“Urgh...”

“Keep it together, Springles. Over there's our ride.”

A black, nondescript jeep. The only thing that made it stand out was a scrap of silvery foil bound to the tip of the antenna. A very young man in a black suit leaned against the car, quietly humming a tune. He looked up when Lance and Springtrap were just some feet away.

“First time I've seen the wildlife using a plane.” he said with a smirk.

“Bro, are ya even old enough to have a license?”

“No, I pushed the jeep all the way here hoping you guys could drive us back.” answered the youngster, still bearing his grin.

“Nah, I never had the cash to get a license. And Bunny here is not really-”

Perfectly timed, Springtrap leaned over to heave loudly. Which swiped away the grin of the young man.

“Uh, how...”

“Get me a fucking seat or I swear to god I'll fry your precious mobile.” mourned Springtrap.

Some minutes later, they were on the road.

Dense and misty, the boreal forest lined both sides of the street. Surely, Canada presented itself mystically. The airport Lance and Springtrap arrived at was a small, local supply station in the middle of nowhere. At least, that was what it seemed like. Of course, the forest were inhabited. Unlike its southern neighbor, Canada had found a way to offer the native populations their freedom, while keeping them part of the nation. Huge, mostly self-sufficient reservations in which the different peoples could lead their lives like they saw fit. Some basic stations like the airport dotted the vast landscape, allowing limited connection to the rest of the world. And offering a small set of services to the locals. Mostly medical in nature. Some tribes were nomads, and moving around heavy medical equipment wasn't possible.

The road they followed ultimately lead to one of the few permanent settlements amongst the trees. Surprisingly well equipped. In fact, wasn't it for the unique architecture of the buildings, one could come to think to be in a rural town somewhere near to New York City.

“And there we are.” said the driver “Greenlake, a Dené town. I'd tell you the original name, but I'm unsure how to pronounce Northern Athabaskan. Not from around these parts.”

“Wow. Are we really in a reservation?” asked Springtrap, while curiously looking around.

“Sure. Some people decided to live up to western standards. Combining white peoples' technology with their own tradition. Has a nice flair, hasn't it?”

“It sure does. I always thought the natives would just live like they always did. But that's just me, never looking left or right.”

“Guess that's one way to say that ya've been out of synch with the whole world.” responded Lance.

“I have no idea what you are supposed to do here, guys.” stated the driver “My job is to get you to a certain address and wait for you to finish up, than I'll drive you back to the airport.”

“And to that tiny flying hellmachine again.” added Springtrap with a shudder.

“Would you be more comfortable in an economy plane? That is, like, hundreds of tons heavier?”

“Uuugh... get us to the place and shut up.”

“We're already there. Why do you think I parked some minutes ago?”

The building was rather large. And looked like nothing Springtrap ever had seen. Completely constructed of gently curved wood, it did look a little bit like a tent. Or one of those huts the forest people lived in. Just bigger. Modern. And with windows.  
Lance was rather bold, and just entered, while Springtrap felt a little bit nervous. Something here was out of the line. Sorcery. Like a faint smell in the air. He hurried to follow Lance inside.  
It probably was some sort of community center, with a rather roomy entrance area, and a reception. The woman there didn't look surprised to see a stag and a bunny robot entering the hall. She smiled, and walked up behind her desk.

“Welcome. You are a little bit early, I am afraid. Please follow me. I will inform our Elder's servants about your arrival.”

The receptionist lead the two into a remote part of the building. Several doors were locked. And Springtrap was sure at least one of them was secured by sorcery. Did that woman even knew anything about the nature of her Elder? She seemed unaffected by the strange tingle in the air.

Lance and Springtrap were left to wait in a small room. The decoration was fascinating. Pieces of wood or bark, adorned with paint and carvings. Probably part of a faith. Tapestries showing mythological scenes hung at the walls, and the wood was sometimes carved so thin that daylight seeped trough it.

“You're so calm.” whispered Springtrap, trying to not disturb the strange silence of the place.

“Yup.”

“Amazing.”

“Ya think so?”

“I do. The sorcery here tickles my mind.”

“Hm. I barely notice it. Am more interested in this culture. The undead we're goin' to meet is a first American. Just think about that. And people here seem to be fine with that.”

“If they know.”

“They probably do. When people from Europe came here, they didn't want to believe anythin' the locals had to say. So these just stopped tellin'.” Lance sighed “Hey, ya probably ask anyway. My father was a native, too. Never gotta know him, tho.”

“Erm, and how can you be sure that he was a native?”

Lance was about to dramatically point at his body, but he remembered.

“Uh, ya never seen me alive. Didn't exactly pass as white. Had darker skin and some hints and such.”

“Wow, so you're a native?”

“Nah. I'm just a white dude who carries around someone's genes. When my first kid was born, I briefly tried to get to know somethin' about my own dad. Dunno why. Maybe I wanted to know if there is any culture I'm supposed to teach my cub. Was stupid thinkin'. If I hadn't any contact to this, why should my kids. Also, it's impossible. I haven't talked to my mom since I brought her to jail, and even if, she used to be a busy whore in her time. Could've been anyone from anywhere. I guess so. People up here have light skin, mine wasn't.”

“It's strange how easy those bonds are cut. I mean, maybe your whole life would have been different if your father stayed with your mother. But no, he left. Probably unaware that he has a son. You'd think family is the very basic. Fundamental. But it's so easily destroyed. My own daughter was born after I died.”

“And she's really ya own?”

“Looks like me. And nothing like her mother. Which is good, since I don't know if I would be able to talk to those... those eyes again. Luckily, she's really just like me. Purple eyes, blonde hair.”

“Oh ya were a blonde?”

“Yes. Platinum blonde.”

“Rad. I was a natural ginger. Looked stupid with my skin, so I dyed it black. The hair, I mean.”

“I didn't even cut mine that often... strange to talk about this. Like, I used to have hair growing out of my head.”

“I feel ya. I often went to bed hungry. Now I barely remember what hunger felt like.”

“We're dead.”

“Yup. Totally dead.”

Some silent minutes went by. Each of them dwelling on their own thoughts.  
Around ten minutes after the receptionist had left them, she returned. With her was another woman, in ceremonial garbs. She was old, her hair gray. With a bow, she greeted the two men.

“This is one of the caretakers of our Elder. Only these are allowed to see Her, unless She wishes to see someone else. You can count yourself lucky that the request of your Agency met the interest of the Elder.” explained the receptionist “Everyone interacting with Her took a vow of silence, but since you are under a similar oath, we trust you to keep our secrets safe.”

“We're supposed to help people, not harm them.” answered Springtrap, and he himself was surprised how honest and earnest he sounded.

Both women smiled, and the caretaker silently indicated for Lance and Springtrap to follow her.

Two more doors.

And finally, they found themselves in a dark, large room. The caretaker left them, closing the door behind her. And the last bit of light was gone.  
Some sort of musky, fragrant incense hung heavily in the air, almost like a manifestation of the overwhelming eldritch presence.

A light appeared.  
It was a faint, orange flame, hovering some inches above Lance's palm.

“Whoooh, wait.” said Springtrap surprised “Wait wait wait. You know sorcery?!”

“Yup.”

“What the heck?!”

“Surprised?”

“I am! Never got this shit to work myself! How...”

“Dunno. Was almost the first I tried when ya guys gave me some minutes for myself. Beside this here light, I didn't manage to get anythin' else done, tho.”

He lighted some more wispy flames. Their gentle shine pushed away the darkness of the chamber.  
The furniture was rather sparse. A simple writing board, and some bookshelves.  
At the other end of the room, a person sat on the ground. Small. Hunched. Dressed in richly decorated clothes, and wearing a wooden mask.

“Well well...” said some voice.  
It was impossible to get the direction from where it came. Almost like it just appeared in Springtrap's mind. A strange voice, a little raspy. Not quite loud, but it still demanded attention.  
“Would you look at what the girls brought me. Tasty treats. Not one, no, two young men.”

“We're mostly made of metal.” said Lance “Stuff's hard to chew. Specially if it tries to kick you all the time.”

A cackling laugh.

“For someone dead, you're quite fiery, aren't you? Let me see what I have to work with... hm... A father who lost all. And a boy who never had anything. Sad stories, indeed.”

“Did she read our minds?” whispered Springtrap.

“Your past. Not your mind.” answered the voice with a hint of amusement “Entering your mind would be nasty, right? But your past lies just there, no longer part of yourself, free for everyone to read. I admit that I had my doubt. The Agency often tried to coax me into working for them. Sending other allegedly undead people to me could have been a new trick. An outrageous one. But no. You are, indeed. Dead. And not dead. Ghosts. Forever denied their path. I am the Elder. I have no name anymore. It was taken away when they did to me what they did. I agreed to this. It was an honor, serving as the undying memory of my people. A people that was conquered, annihilated, long before your ancestors made their way to these lands. I outlasted my people. Even our conquerors. And the conquerors of our conquerors. Now, I am the Elder to these people here. I remind them of their roots. I tell the stories behind their traditions. How the mountains they revere earned their names.”

“How old are you?”

“I was told that it is not polite to ask a lady this question.” answered the Elder, with a grin that was not visible, but could be felt.

“Sorry.”

“Easy to fool, my boy. We are not afraid of the age. What I know of your world seems to me like people are supposed to be all grown up the day they are born. But still have to look like a babe when they die. A strange world, indeed. I don't know exactly how old I am. Our time was different from yours. And nobody ever bothered to translate the one into the other. Studying what you found out about us, I got to think that I might be dead for more than eight hundred years.”

That number sure had some weight on it.

Involuntarily, Springtrap started to think about his own prolonged existence. Eight hundred years? Even trying to get a time this long into his mind failed. He remembered several talks with different people, claiming that going on and on without an end could hardly be called a blessing. But now, he had a prove that this actually was a thing.

“Ugh.” he said.

To which the Elder responded with a laugh.

“I got used to it. Since I knew what this honor would cost. But it is all different for you, isn't it? You were not asked. Not prepared. I pity you.”

“Thanks, but we're not here for sweet talk.” answered Lance, who just dropped to the ground, and leaned against the door behind him “Ya tell us some things we need to know.”

“Eager, aren't we? I wondered what your command hoped to gain from me. But now I see. You know nothing. Creating an undead needs profound knowledge of the Fading Rooms, its rules, and loopholes. I was trained to be undead. And even if my people and myself forgot the secret arts, I remember what they taught me. And after all those years, I got quite some experience.”

“Hey wait. Wait wait. Secret arts? That's somethin' I wanted to know anyway. How exactly were ya made?”

“I do not know.”

“What? But ya just...”

“We are able to remember the eldritch. But how we became what we are, is the single thing we are supposed to forget. I know that it was a complicated ritual which came with high costs. I do not remember what exactly happened.”

“So, even undead can't keep this?”

“Indeed.”

“Shit.”

“That is exactly what Fazaka was able to bypass.” said Springtrap to Lance “They created technology that in turn created something that is able to turn a human undead. That's the loophole. They forgot what and why and how, but they surely were able to produce it. When you teach someone to do something, you can forget it yourself, but still will get what you want. And if it is technology that got taught, it isn't affected by these whole forgetting-shit.”

“Okay, but can we somehow use this to re-teach the Agency's staff?”

“Don't think so. They will doubt what they hear.”

“Crap.”

“I am afraid that this is true. Such is the nature of the Veil.” agreed the Elder.

“Huh, the Veil?” wondered Springtrap.

“Indeed. It is more than just a border. It is a guard. A watcher. Makes sure that both sides don't blend into each other. Wherever the Veil is present, any knowledge created about the Fading Rooms is meant to vanish. The Veil has tides. There are centuries where it is thick and the living will forget as soon as they knew. Other times, the Veil is thin, and people might remember long enough to learn how to make an undead. But even then, they will forget. We are the sole exception. We are a hole in the Veil. What we say and do lacks this trait. And as long as the knowledge is created near to us, it will last.”

“Is this why we needed to get here in person?”

“No. I understand that you two use some... sort of technology to be able to speak. But I don't have such a thing. I do not speak. My thoughts appear in your minds. Even using the language you understand. This would not work if we had something between us. I am silent to your telephones, silent to your recording devices. I have no voice. My body is long dead. I never bothered to restore it.”

“Re... restore? What, hey, what ya mean with that?!”

The Elder stayed silent a moment. Thinking.

“You are special.” she claimed “Very special. I do not understand anything of you. An undead is usually bound to their body. Our ghost refuses to leave it. Even when it is cut into pieces, we are bound to each of them. You, however, have no body. You a a spark of captured lightning. Almost like a ghost. But not dead enough, I think, you have a bond to your corpses. Hm. Make sure to keep your remains safe. Do not burn them. Or anything you people do to put them to rest. Even if I don't understand you, maybe someone else will.”

“Hey, please, just... restore? Whaddya mean? Can we... can we get our bodies back?”

“Usually, yes.”

“How?!”

“Undead shape the world. Everything we do is sorcery. Movement without muscles. Speaking without a voice. Those are the small things. Gather some skill, and the eldritch will shape for you. That is what it is for. An undead with enough skill, willpower, and knowledge, is indeed able to restore their body. Make it alive again. I feel your eagerness, but be aware that this task will take decades of learning. You have to know how the juices flow. What part of the body does what, and how. Decades of training, so the eldritch will precisely form what you want, and how you want it. And even then, it will take decades to slowly turn your corpse into a working body again. Not many do this, since the price is high, and a living body requires care and nurture.”

“But it IS possible?”

“Normally, yes. If it is possible for you, I do not know.”

“Worth a try.” said Lance, and sounded almost angry “I was quite happy with my body and what it had to offer.”

“And I want pizza.” added Springtrap.

Lance pointed at him.

“And he wants pizza. That's even more important than me gettin' my marvelous meat back.”

“Are you talking about your...”

“Yes. That.”

“Oh.”

“I can not teach you that.” said the Elder “But I try to get you closer. Many undead searched my knowledge. But you are the first ones to really need it.”

“Uh, how many... other undead are there exactly?” wondered Springtrap.

“More than you think, but less than you fear. Most come to realize that the living world is not meant to be played with by higher forces. And keep out.”

“Where are they from?”

“All around the world. It seems that every culture with a strong focus on death and funeral rites sooner or later taped into this topic. When the Veil is thin. Usually there are only one or two per culture. The oldest undead I ever had the honor speaking to was a man from the place you call Egypt. His death lies almost four thousand years in the past.”

“Woooooow. Oh god. A real mummy then?”

“Yes.”

“Cool! Do all undead know of each other?”

“They do not. This is nothing that comes naturally. Maybe it is unique to me. I was chosen to preserve knowledge. I have always been a curious one. Sorcery has its own rules. Like the Rooms it hails from, it adapts to its user. While the basics are available for everyone, not all undead develop the will to harness the higher eldritch, and each one does it in an unique way.”

“Okay, back to the main topic.” said Lance in an earnest tone “We need to figure out this whole sorcery shit, cause there's a ghost runnin' around who thinks turnin' humans into mush is great. Nobody thinks this is serious enough to budge, so it'll be up to us two guys here. Bad news: we don't know shit about sorcery.”

“That I have seen. I read your past. Your memories. Personally I do not allow myself to interfere. I am a lorekeeper, not a fighter. But your cause is an important one. So let me help you to help yourself. I often tried to trick the Veil. With limited success. While even I am not able to keep the living from forgetting, I managed to craft something that allows me to share my knowledge with other undead. A book. It contains what I learned about sorcery. Learned by trying, learned by hearing from others.”

“And you are giving this to us without knowing us?”

“I know where you came from. I saw what you have seen. That has to be enough. The situation is dire. A ghost has natural understanding of the Fading Rooms. If one is able to employ the powers of an undead, he will learn in days what we learn in years. I am lacking the willpower to be a great sorceress myself. I am only able to tell you what you need to look for.”

Lance got up from the ground.

“That's probably all we can ask for. Thanks. Better start soon, or else the Marionette will kill more and more people.”

“My caretakers will hand you the book.” answered the Elder “It may even allow us to communicate within the Rooms. But for now, this is all I can give you. Take care, and farewell.”

As if she heard the Elder calling, the caretaker entered the chamber, smiling. She politely pointed at the hallway behind her.

“Later.” said Lance, and he eagerly left the room.

“Uhm... thank you. I guess. Bye.” added Springtrap, who suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the same room with the Elder.

With the orange glow of the wisp lights vanishing, the Elder was once again alone in her dark sanctuary.

Waiting.

Just some minutes after the two had left, the door opened again. Someone entered, but did not bother to produce any light.

“You surprised me.” said the Elder.

“It was our pleasure.” answered the driver who had brought Lance and Springtrap here.

“Tell me why you send them here, Mister High Commander.”

“Shh. That is dangerous knowledge, my dear.”

“I live for the thrill. So?”

“You are the only one who agreed.” responded the disguised commander.

“That is not true.”

“You got me. Okay. Facts on the table. You are a daughter. A mother. A grandmother. A high priestess. A leader. An elder. An undead. We need to know about the Rooms, undead, and sorcery, true, but we also care for these two men.”

“Why?”

“It is our duty to care for people.”

“Oh how benevolent. If you white people only were so generous when you decided to raze this continent.”

“That is something we can not undo. Tell me. What do you see.”

The Elder stayed quiet for a minute.

“I see two young men, each desperate. I see two lives thrown away. Darkness. A silent night, lasting years. But I see hope where only darkness used to be. Hope. Dreams. Like stars on the blackest sky. Their shine is shy and weak, but it may turn into light strong enough to lead the way for two lost souls. That is what the elder and the priestess see. The mother sees empty shells. Lifeless puppets, who know only how to function. How to produce. To work. To obey. That is not what a human is supposed to be. I see desperate need for affection. For a strong shoulder to lean on. For someone listening. The undead sees impossible things. Ghosts, taken away from their bodies. Turned into raw power. Nothing I know matches this. Nothing I know is able to explain this. I fear. Imagine that. A dead woman who fears. When something like this is possible, what other horror may wait for us in the future? And last, the leader. I see two men who could be the most important addition to your Agency. If you treat them right. The rabbit is weak willed. Easy to be fooled, to be manipulated. Broken. I see that some work has been done, but I doubt that he will ever be strong enough to force the eldritch to shape for him. I don't know if it is of interest for you, but since he isn't full of himself, there is room for others. He is a beacon. A gentle, soothing light, shining in the darkness of the Rooms. He will attract the lost. He has an unique talent to lead them. To find their paths for them. Compassion. Some naive boldness. Maybe that will be useful some day. Treat him well. Care for him, let his wounds heal. Guide him. Fail to help him, and he might become your worst nightmare as soon as he falls into wrong hands. The other one is different. He has fire. He is strong, but also has a good heart. He cares for others far more than for himself. High ideals, and the will to fight for them. He may lack the content of many books, but he is street smart, as you say it. Allow him to grow. Care for him, make sure he doesn't forget about himself. You absolutely want to stay on his good side, because I foresee that he will become a grand sorceror in no time. He might become an invaluable weapon for you. But if you wrong him and his views, your Agency will burn. Watch out, because I sense that a part of him is out for revenge.”

Now it was the commander's turn to stay quiet for some time, thinking about what he just had learned.

“Thank you.” he answered finally.

“I think you did the right thing sending them to me. And coming here to hear me out. At least one of High Command will know. But you also said I am a daughter, right? She's a young and stubborn child, and very upset that you tricked her into working for you. So you better be on your way now.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**07.10.2020 – The Black Tome** (Resurrection 10)

 

 

It was past ten when Springtrap came back.

What a pleasant day.

Never had he expected that some people really would celebrate the fact that he was around. But they did. Originally he had made the resolution to keep the public crying down to a minimum in the future. This had been the first opportunity to live up to this promise.  
Fail.

His knees still were a little bit weak when he walked up the hallway. But maybe that was just him being tired. He had been happy all day long. That sure was exhausting.

He entered his cell, and was greeted by an unusual sight. Lance was sitting at the table. He probably had been studying the book they had been given the day before. Obviously an exhaustive task as well, given the fact that he was sleeping on the table right now. Springtrap thought for a moment about waking the other. The strange bond the two of them shared made him want to talk about his great day. It somehow felt like they had been friends for decades. Luckily, this was mutual. Lance usually was extremely cautious when it came to talk about whatever was going on in his mind. Even after all these things that happened to him, he always tried to keep up a stable and composed facade. Just to break down when the two of them were alone. Something he definitely was not used to.

However, Springtrap decided to let him sleep, since he himself was tired. So he walked over to his bed, and started to undress. Just to stop some seconds later, staring at the shirt in his hands. He didn't own any nightwear. That wouldn’t be necessary, since he didn't sweat. The fact alone that he did in fact sleep commonly surprised people. Getting ready for bed was something a human would do, even automatically so. And he just did. Without really thinking about it. A good sign maybe? Probably. Just two days ago he had been thinking if he should get some briefs. Just because he remembered wearing them, and suddenly felt out of line for not doing so anymore. Of course it was pointless. What would he need underwear for? There wasn't anything to cup up. And he was lacking a digestive system that would be able to produce some... dirt down there. Strange to think about all this as an onlooker from the outside. Not many people could claim to be without digestion. Springtrap's thinking strayed to what he learned just a day ago. Rebuilding a body. Lance was eager to do this. If it was possible for them, they didn't know, but he wanted to try anyway. He hadn't done anything else but reading the black tome of the Elder since he had gotten it in his hands. A strange book. Closed, it appeared as black as... well. Blacker than everything possible. So black that it almost looked like a hole in reality, vaguely shaped like a rectangle. But once it was open, the black pages were covered with faintly glowing text. Luckily it somehow knew what language the reader was able to understand. During the flight, Springtrap hadn't been able to focus on anything else except his non-existent but still revolting stomach, and still he had managed to pick up some things Lance had said. The first chapter of the book explained some basic 'skills' every undead had. Luckily, every entry started with an easily understandable summary, before the actual explanation followed. Those were really helpful, since the actual text was highly cryptic and scientific. Hard to understand, at least for Lance and Springtrap, both far from being well educated.

So far, Springtrap understood that all undead had at least some power over reality.

The fact that they could move without a living body and its muscles was simply sorcery. Telekinesis. Put that way, it seemed instantly logical. Of course a dead body wasn't able to move. Muscles were dead. No energy without oxygen and nutrition. And no movement without neural signals. Which in turn needed a functioning brain, that in turn needed to be powered as well, and kept a specific temperature, and free from germs and such. In order to work, a body simply had to be alive. If something wouldn't be necessary, evolution would've already found a way to cut it out.

An other basic thing was the Whisper. That was what the tome called the undead's ability to “speak”. It was not speaking in the sense of producing noise. Because that again would need living tissue. And breath. The tome stated that, even with the undead being able to move its body around, manipulating the sound apparatus to produce speech was extremely difficult, since all those things were delicate. And still, it would need breath. So, the Whisper was more like... mind reading. Just the opposite. The undead simply made thoughts appear in someone's mind. This felt so natural, that the difference was hardly noticeable. On the downside, as the Elder already stated, the Whisper didn't work when the undead had to interact with technology like a phone. A phone had no mind where words could appear, so undead were basically mute to these things. A problem Fazaka had been able to solve by giving the specter suits soundboxes to produce actual speech, as well as electronic “ears”. Still it was fascinating to think about that, normally, an undead could reverse mindread.

Following up basics like these two, the second chapter was different. The Elder managed to craft the tome in a way that allowed it to make things appear on the pages, based on the personal ability of the undead reading it. That way, Lance got presented a couple of harmful sorceries. Each one with some sort of arcane symbol, a short summary, and a longer description of what it did and how one could learn this skill. The tome stated that, even with the eldritch being highly personal, as soon as it became part of the living world, it simply had to put itself in some sort of pattern, or system, so the skills available to undead were globally the same. Moving outside of these patterns was something only highly advanced undead could attempt to do after centuries of training. A rule that apparently didn't apply for ghosts. The Elder managed to put all the skills she knew of in a neat system, with categories that sorted each sorcery based on appearance or effect. Lance had initially been prompted with 'Fire' skills. They didn't really work like an actual fire, in fact, most of these flames lowered the temperature. They just looked like different colored fire. Spitefire for example. The tome said this was a very basic skill, often the first actual power an undead would tap into. Using the user's disdain as a fuel, Spitefire harmed the mind of the victim it was cast on, without actually burning anything. The acid green flames of Banefire, however, ate away solid matter, as long as it didn't belong to a living body. Lance had had a hard time going through the descriptions. Especially the parts that explained how to produce the skill were highly psychological, since it often needed to put the mind into a specific state. But the black tome seemed to think that Lance was capable to do this, since it showed him quite a number of different, aggressive skills, as well as a couple of protective barriers and such.

Springtrap's first time reading the tome had been this very morning before he left for his brother's party. Not that he had had that much time, but Lance really wanted to know what the tome would show him. It hadn't been that much of a surprise. Banshee. A skill that allowed the undead to concentrate feelings like grief, sorrow, and remorse, and forcefully drowning everyone around them in these emotions. Mental Wreck. A direct attack at the victim's mind, causing great distress and maybe even lasting damage up to a trauma. Starless Night. Throwing a single victim into a nightmare without any hope to escape. Silence. Suppressing all sound and noise around the undead. Sleep Sand. Obviously causing someone to fall asleep. The single noteworthy thing was, that the very first page Springtrap was offered described something called Counter Spell. The tome said that this was a rather rare skill, often found on people who lacked the will to tap deeper into the more forceful parts of sorcery. This Counter Spell was able to interrupt the sorcery of an other undead by locally making reality more persistent. The second skill Springtrap had been shown was Reset. Quite similar to the first one, only that it allowed the user to undo lasting effects of sorcery, and reinstall the natural order and laws of physics.

While Springtrap himself hadn't been really happy about the tome regarding him as weak willed, Lance was still quite interested in whatever skill it presented to Springtrap. Only now, after rethinking, Springtrap got the idea, why. Undoing or interrupting someone's sorcery was actually quite useful against someone like the Marionette. Now, he had to find out how exactly he could bring himself to 'cast' such a thing. While he enjoyed video games with magic, he had clearly no clue how such a thing could possibly work in the real world. He had no wand or a spell tome.

Then, it hit him.

He had a spell tome.

Lance just had started to write down whatever he gathered out of the black book. In fact, he'd fell asleep doing this, his head resting on the diary Springtrap handed him earlier this day. Suddenly he regretted not asking Lance what he needed this book for. It was a pastel pink diary, with a bunny on the cover hugging a huge carrot. The cute critter even had white, velvet fur. Not really an appropriate way to store dangerous eldritch knowledge. On the other hand, nobody would look for dark secrets in this thing. And actually, it was quite hilarious thinking about an undead sorcerer pulling a pink bunny diary out of his pocket to unleash some eldritch horror. Even with Lance's head covering most of the book, Springtrap easily saw that he probably had to write his own. The handwriting was horrible. So his view wandered over to the actual tome.

He gently picked it up. Despite being huge, and at least four thousand pages thick, it weighted nearly nothing. The black pages lighted up as ghostly lines of text appeared. Of course they showed something different to him than they did to Lance. Springtrap turned some pages, all the way back to the beginning of chapter two. Higher Eldritch: Counter Spell. He started to read the glowing text, and somehow it was different than before. Maybe, since Lance had been reading the tome for hours, it reacted to this and made itself easier to understand? That was quite possible, since going trough the description wasn't that hard. It stated that skills in the Higher Eldritch category usually needed a high willpower, since they directly affected the living world and its fundamental laws. However, the Counter Spell was an exception, since it enforced said laws, so bending reality was made harder or even impossible. The Elder wrote, that she originally planned to put Counter Spell and Reset into their very own category, but ultimately decided to make them Higher Eldritch because of their relation to physical laws. Springtrap went through the text, and reached the part that explained how to cast this skill. Again, it was easier to understand than before. But maybe it wasn't the text. He thought that, given the fact the tome showed skills that would feel the most natural for the reader, maybe it was him who was different? Maybe. Counter Spell was only useful to directly hinder an other sorcerer. Since Lance was the only one around, who in turn didn't really know much about sorcery, training this skill was difficult right now.

Springtrap almost closed the book again.

But got a sudden idea.

He moved forward some pages. Higher Eldritch: Reset. He carefully read the following four pages. Reset worked in a similar, but ultimately different way than Counter Spell, since sorcery that was actively cast had almost nothing to do with sorcery that lasted, because in most cases, this was Bending and Shaping. Undead who enforced their will could shape the world. Make it behave different. Bend a law or two. That was nothing that could be done in a rush. Undoing these changes either needed to shape and bend them backwards, or reminding reality that it was not supposed to work like this. And that was Reset. In its own way difficult, but compared to Shaping and Bending easier to learn. In fact, the text said that skillful shapers were with almost no exception unable to tap into Reset. Naturally. One could either learn to work against the laws of reality, or to enforce them. Springtrap got himself some paper and a pencil, and started to write down the basics for Reset. Since he felt particularly good, he also sketched down the symbol the Elder had made for this skill. Wondering if the name of the skill and that glyph were her own inventions, or like the name of the Fading Rooms something that was globally accepted, Springtrap tried to come up with a better term for this sorcery. He couldn't think of one.

When he was done with his note, he threw a quick view on the clock. Almost eleven. Pondering about if to go on with his idea or if to wait for tomorrow, he remembered that the Agency had started to work in shifts all day long. Since this here was indeed a little bit more than just him being curious, he decided to give it a try.

Waking up the communicator that was build into his head from standby, he called the Boston Agency. Surprisingly, someone answered.

 

 

Almost half an hour later, Springtrap got out of the black car.

A huge wall greeted him. To keep the public out. Not really necessary, since the constant presence of police and security was enough to shoo away the inhabitants of the north-western slums. Lance had told him some things about how the lower class lead their lives, but it was almost surreal to see this part of Boston with his own eyes. Springtrap could not really remember that Boston had a slum when he was alive. He himself hadn't been middle class, but still he had had a home. Sure, there had been bad neighborhoods, and even those with trailers, but what he was seeing right now was definitely something whole different. Huts. Primitive shacks. Roughly crafted from chipboard, plastic, sheet metal or even junk. The narrow spaces between them barely allowed a car to pass through. And the muddy ground made even that quite hard. He was rather thankful that the darkness blurred out most details of the misery around him. And that he was able to turn off his nose. The stench was sickening. How on earth could this be the United States? It almost looked like those pictures welfare organizations had been using in the seventies to encourage people to donate some money for suffering folks in Africa, Asia, or South America. But no, this was only one of the three slums that surrounded Boston. When Wabanaki had been founded, many white people from former Maine had moved down, so Boston's surrounding was crowded. And modern economy had no use for simple workers. So, it was slums. In fact, the southern slum even reached all the way down to ultimately merge with the northern shanty town of New York City. Two cities, connected through the sprawling homes of the poor.

Springtrap tried his best to get himself away from staring at the slum around him. That wasn't the reason for him calling an Agency ride all the way here. He was brought inside the walled area. Just to be shocked again.

A detonation, frozen in time. As if someone had set of a bomb, and stopped the video halfway trough the explosion.. Parts of shacks ripped asunder still hung in the air. Hold up by bizarre formations of gleaming ice. The air was freezing. Far too cold for October. Mist formed around the otherworldly ice shapes, slowly drifting to the ground where it hung in thick wafts. No wonder the Agency had set up those huge fences. One didn't need a degree in climatology to be able to tell that this definitely wasn't normal. And as far as Springtrap knew, the actual event had happened months ago. When the Marionette came for Lance's children. This here used to be the home of his ex-wife. Who sheltered their offspring since Lance didn't came back from work one day. Now, it was a ruin. A crater. Coated in ice, completely unaffected by three months of summer heat.

A single moment, Springtrap wasn't sure anymore if he wanted to try this. The sight was overwhelming. But then again, this here was the perfect training ground, right?

He meet up with some of the people who had spend the last three months trying to break down the ice and gather the corpses that were trapped within it. Demolition specialist from the Agency, almost powerless. They had tried everything. Laser cutters, heavy mining tools, explosives, acid, even experimental plasma weapons. A couple of meters progress was all they had managed to achieve. Apparently, the Marionette's skill at producing ice had grown in between his attempt in New York and the attack here in Boston. This stuff was almost indestructible. And still, they were on the task to remove this unnatural phenomena. What else to do? Explain to the public how this was possible? How a huge chunk of bizarrely formed ice simply refused to melt down? Not only that. Regarding the edges and spires and jags of the frozen explosion, any bystander would easily understand that common ice would not be able to hold up its own weight in formations this strange. That was what mortals would see here. Springtrap, however, was able to sense more. He already had felt this before, in the basement of the circus show in New York City. The presence of the Veil. Hanging in the air like that tense pressure right before a heavy thunderstorm. It crawled down his spine. He shuddered.

He didn't really need to explain what he was up to. People here were aware that this all was beyond strange. And he, an even more strange person, was fitting perfectly well into the picture. They allowed him to try whatever he wanted in a remote corner of the icy mess. While the workers still threw an eye on him now and then, Springtrap was rather happy to be on his own. He didn't really know if he would be able to get this done, and wanted to avoid being seen as a failure. Good thing the guys here were busy.

He unfolded the note he wrote earlier, and read it. Of course he still remembered the actual text in the black tome, but knowing that he was prepared helped to calm down his nerves. He was about to try sorcery. That sure was something.

Still, he was unsure how to start. Stared at the glimmering ice in front of him, maybe hoping to get an idea. What to do? Should he talk to the ice, reminding it that normally it should not stay solid in twelve degrees Celsius? No. He remembered what the tome said. A quick look on his note. Don't waste time with the symptom, find and fix the actual reason.

It had been all clear and logical before.

But now, facing frozen water that refused to behave like it should, it wasn't so understandable anymore. What  _was_ the reason? Sorcery. Sure, but what exactly?

This was madness. The tome clearly stated that he lacked the will for proper sorcery, how could he hope to undo something a natural had made?  
Springtrap sat down on the snow covered ground and re-read his notes. They didn't made any sense anymore. Fix the actual reason? How to find it? And even if he knew, what exactly was he supposed to do to fix it?

A little detail on his notes made him curious. There was a line he couldn't remember writing down. 'Sorcery is a  natural ability. Do what feels natural to  you '.

Odd. It was clearly his handwriting, with the little curls for I-dots. A rather nice handwriting. Compared to Lance's, it was great! But then again, even a dirty-footed crow jumping around on a sheet of paper would produce some better letters than Lance.  
Natural?  
Thinking about a hole in some magical barrier between the world and the afterlife wasn't exactly what Springtrap would do naturally. So. Maybe he had to reconsider his approach? What did feel natural to him?

“Colors.” he said to himself.

And somehow was surprised how fast he came up with that.  
Colors?  
Could he imagine sorcery as... just... coloring something? Not really. The laws of physics wouldn't fit into a crayon.  
So maybe something else he had at least some basic knowledge in?

“Electronics.”

Again, it came out really fast.  
But was that a better idea than colors? Maybe.

“Okay, you sorcerous bullshit are just a short circuit.” he said, pointing at the ice “Gotta fix you. I mean, we have some rules here. If something's supposed to work, it's follow rules or just don't work at all. It's light on or off. Not light maybe a little bit to the right half on with a slight chance for rain.”

That said, he still didn't know what to do.  
And was as clueless as before.

“Okay okay. Gotta work this out. I bullshitted my way trough twenty two years of life, thirty two years of isolation, and a year to the day of therapy, specter shit, family happiness and weird eldritch stuff. I can and will undo some stupid teenager's sorcery even without having a single clue what I'm doing.”

He got up again, and started to think as hard as he could. Combining everything he so far knew. First, sorcery was eldritch energy on the wrong side of the Veil. Second, someone used this energy to shape and bend the natural order of things. Third, he was unable to shape and bend himself. Fourth, he still could feel the residual energy around here. He just had to somehow find a way to make it go away, then the normal world would take care of the rest.  
Right?  
Good.  
Could he somehow try to... force this energy back into the rooms?  
He was a gateway himself, right? No. That wouldn't work. Eldritch energy wasn't like water that one could pour in or out of this world. Springtrap wasn't quite sure where he got this knowledge, but it seemed right to him.

It was hopeless. Again he sat down, and stared at the ice.

What a foolhardy idea to try this on his own. At least he could have asked Lance before about how he managed to actually cast sorcery. And take the actual black tome with him instead of some notes... Maybe it was that happiness that had made Springtrap so bold. Despite the last year's efforts, he still wasn't really used to this. Calm he was, most of the time. Sure, he still had these break downs now and then, whenever memories and guilt knocked at his door. But over all, he was fine. Not happy, but also not on the edge of suicide. Quite possible that being happy made him overestimating his own skills. After all, he was sitting here, in the snow, staring at unnaturally created ice, and surrounded by the pestering presence of the Fading Rooms, because he boldly assumed to get something done only a handful undead ever achieved.

Springtrap sighed, and looked over to the Agency workers trying to melt the ice using plasma torches. Their expressions told him that they already knew that this new attempt would not work, but still they kept on trying. Of course they didn't know anything about the actual reason for this stupid ice being so tough. They only saw the ice itself and tried whatever they thought might to be useful to thaw it. Even with them achieving almost nothing, at least they had a couple of things left they could try out. Springtrap, on the other hand, had no such tools. He had a mind he never really trusted, since it used to made him do horrible things. And some airy information found in a suspicious book written by an ancient woman.

He felt useless.  
But then again, he had felt useless in Rochester, too. And in the end, it had been him who saved the day.

He decided to just try something. Almost like the agents here. Just try it.

So Springtrap got up again, and simply started to push away an invisible wall. He felt almost like a mime, working against something he had to imagine to be there. He could sense the Veil, but not grasp it. But maybe pretending to do this would be enough? After all, this whole sorcery business was more or less undead making things happen by tricking reality. Unfortunately, waving his hands around in the chilly air didn't seem to remind the world that ice wasn't supposed to work this way. If anything, it made him look stupid.  
After he tried some minutes, he moved on to something else. This time, he wanted to focus more on the eldritch taint he could feel all around. He told himself that this stuff wasn't supposed – allowed even – to be here. Before his inner eye, he saw the ice melting. Made the eccentric formations fall apart. Again, nothing happened. His mind or will wasn't able to force things to happen.

He looked at the agents.  
Watched them employing tools to thaw the ice. Real world tools failing against supernatural stuff. He himself was a supernatural, but failed all the same.

Then, it hit him.

Springtrap turned around. Away from the ice.

He _had_ a tool.

Reality itself.

Instead of trying to _shove_ the Veil and all that eldritch scrap away, he now tried to _pull_ the real world into this here place. It had been turned away by sorcery, but that wasn't how it was supposed to be. Come back, reality. Just come back.

Springtrap felt something shift.

Not sure if that really happened, or if it was just wishful thinking, he again turned towards the ice. He braced himself for his next attempt. Holding both his hands up, he imagined himself as part of the real world. Who forced reality flowing through him, back into the place where it belonged. Undoing what was wrong. Bringing back the laws and rules of the living world. The eldritch was the symptom. The actual reason was the absence of the laws that were supposed to be here.  
He could feel things move. While the autumn air wasn't exactly warm, compared to the wrong and false chill that lingered in this place, it almost felt like a fresh spring breeze.

A breeze.

Gently blowing the mist away. Melting the snow.  
The first crack appeared. A large spire of ice just broke down.  
While Springtrap was overly happy at first, he also felt how this went out of hand.

Before he could actually react, he... just blacked out.

A second. Or two.

And when he came back to his senses, he... saw himself standing in front of melting ice, blurred by the silvery shroud that was the Veil.

“Fuck.” he said, as he came to realize that he somehow had managed to move himself into the Fading Rooms.

“You will have to work on your technique.” said someone behind him.

Startled, Springtrap jumped aside, peering in the direction of this voice.

Amidst the faintly glowing mist that filled the Fading Rooms, someone stand. Something? A rather huge figure. Made of everchanging parts of different animals, but also trees and plants. This thing wore some sort of skirt, or robe, adorned with simple, moving pictures showing different scenes.

“Spectators are charged a fee.” said Springtrap without thinking.

The creature laughed.

“My sincerest apologies. I didn't know that this was a private show.”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“The Elder.”

Springtrap blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“You do remember me, right? It was just yesterday we met.”

“Yeah but... what? You were a tiny person, now you are...”

“Myself.” she answered “Or at least what I see myself as. The Rooms cannot shape for us, but we can shape ourselves. Every undead appears based on what they think of themselves.”

“Wow.”

“I am an Elder. A watcher over my people. A link between the world and the spirit realm. Even if I know that the things my people believed in are only a single variation of the truth, I still see myself as said protector.” her feathered branches gently brushed over the fabric of her dress “I am a bearer of history. Keeper of memories. This is my duty, and this is what I am.”

Springtrap watched a little how the pictures changed. They indeed seemed to show happenings from another time. Different people, attending rituals, or hunting. Building things. Meeting up with other tribes, negotiating. Waging war.

He looked down at himself. But there wasn't anything.

“Don't try.” the Elder said “Only a very few undead are able to see themselves while they reside within the Fading Rooms. One has to know oneself. You don't.”

“How do I look to you?” he asked curiously.

“Bad.” she responded “A broken machine. Staggering. Chunks of flesh lie around your feet, while endless streams of blood flow out of your busted shell. Yet you still seem to be quite attached to the rabbit form.”

“Bunny, if you please!”

“If you say so.”

“Yes. I do. I am a bunny. A horrible bloody murder bunny.” he sighed “Crap, the docs surely won't be happy to hear this. I thought we moved away from the idea that I was the murderer...”

“It takes time, my boy.”

“Please don't call me 'boy'. It... I hate to be called that.”

“I understand.” answered the Elder.  
Even with her not having a proper face, Springtrap could somehow feel that she looked at him compassionately.

“Why... why are you here?”

“I am watching you two.” she said “Trough the black tome.”

“Oh great. That isn't creepy or something. Not at all.”

She chuckled.

“Forgive me. But it is the first time I gave this tome, this knowledge away. During my existence on earth, I learned to keep a good portion of suspicion. I was curious what you would do with this new opportunity. And found myself right in my assumption.”

“Huh? What exactly did you expect to happen?”

She pointed towards the fraction of the living world that was visible trough the Veil.

“Just this. That you would try what you thought to be good and right.”

“Really? But Lance is the better sorceror... in fact, the tome even said that I might never be one myself.”

“And still, you are here, trying what little was given to you. You always tried to make yourself useful, at any cost.”

Springtrap wanted to respond, but apparently didn't come up with something. He looked behind him, watched himself standing there. No clue about anything, and still he tried.

“Useful.” he thoughtfully repeated.

“Your friend might be the gifted one, yes. I have rarely seen someone with so much potential. And yet, you try to force yourself. That is your way. It is not a good one.”

“But...”

“This is just how it is. I am in no position to teach you how to lead your existence. Not yet. I felt your intention when you picked up the tome, and thought that I may stay near to you and watch.”

“Oh my god that was almost an hour ago! You really stayed here that long?!”

“I know what you are thinking. No. I learned to make my time here match the flow of the real world. Also, I am able to only partially enter the Rooms. These are the things you learn after eight hundred years.”

“Okay... okay. Got it.” Springtrap sighed “Useful you say. That would fit rather well. I always had to be useful. Didn't realize I was doing this again.”

“It is not bad that you want to help. But you don't have to force yourself. I handed you the tome just yesterday. And right now, you are trying your hands at something that is rarely achieved, even by well trained and talented undead.”

“But it worked, right?”

“Miraculously, yes. A little too well, if I might say. You even managed to disrupt the sorcery that bound you to this machine of yours.”

“Shit. Did I really... undo myself?”

“No. I do not claim to understand anything of these technologies, but it is something stable and firm. You just temporarily cut the bond to it. When you go back, it will work again.”

“Oh good. That is... good. I really didn't think about this when I got the idea that... I mean, I didn't think about that I, too, am sorcery. Stupid.”

“The way you made this work is a good one. But I would advice you to... keep a little distance.”

“Got it. Anything else you could tell me?”

The Elder stayed quiet for a moment, probably staring at the picture behind him.

“You do not have to be useful.” she finally said “I honor your good intentions, but... don't push yourself too far.”

“I have much to make up for.”

“Do you?”

“I... I helped a murderer.”

“Like most of us.” she replied.

“What do you mean?”

“When the Europeans came, I didn't take up arms to fight them. Many people I knew chose to fight. And were killed. I could have prevented this by fighting. I was an undead already, there was nothing I could lose. And still, I decided to stay out and watch. Watch my people fall. Again.”

“But... but I actively helped a literal murderer.”

“And I helped many murderers, passively. Like most other people on this world at some point.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“You are not obliged to 'make up' for something. The world is not a water jug you can add to or take from. Help if you want. But do it at your own pace, and for your own sake. Just because you did bad things doesn't mean that you have to make the world a better place all by yourself.”

“I do not understand you. I hear your words, but they make no sense.”

“Maybe they do not. Maybe I am wrong. After all, I am just a person. What I say and think is not more right than what you say and think. You asked me for advice, and this I gave you. It is not selfish to take your time. Your intentions, your motives, stay, if you act now or later doesn't change the fact that you want to do good. As time alone doesn't change the fact that you did bad.”

Springtrap just tried to rub his temples. He had no arms, or a head, which stressed him further.

“I don't... don't understand you.”

“Let me try to put it this way: You want to pay a debt you think you owe the world.”

“Yes. Yes, this.”

“Good. Then, tell me. Who decides which currency you have to use?”

“And you lost me again. Can we please talk about sorcery? I think this might be easier for me to get.”

“There is not much I could teach you, my b- my dear. What I could give to you I already handed you in form of the tome. I am not a sorceress myself, just an undead who happen to know a thing or two.”

Springtrap sighed.

“Well okay. Thank you anyway. Wait, I didn't mean to sound so disappointed.”

“You are. And this is what matters.”

“Ugh. Hey. Okay. Thanks. I get that you try to... to help me, in your own way. But... I think that I am not really at the point where I understand what you try to tell me. See, I needed to get used to the talks of my therapists. First I thought they were crazy idiots for trying to fix me. Still don't really know why anyone would try to do something for me, but hey, I do enjoy spending time with... with people I like, so I started to accept this all for the sake of this. I will probably get better over time, so maybe, one day, I'll be able to get what you try to say. Lets just continue this talk in a couple of years, okay?”

She didn't say anything in return at first. A moment, Springtrap feared that he might have offended her somehow. After all, he was not really used to talk to probably sacred ancestors. But then, the Elder bowed.

“We will, if you wish.”

“Thanks. I... I better get back to work now.”

“I will watch.”

“Good. Bye then.”

An instant later, Springtrap found himself back on the other side.

He still could feel the warm air brushing over his head and ears, but the feeling to lose himself to this was gone. Still, he stepped away a couple of meters, before he resumed bringing back reality. The ice started to melt. Cracks everywhere. The most unnatural formations simply collapsed under their own weight. First, it only happened near to him, but the phenomena spread. Cracks. Collapses. Thawing. It was nice to imagine that the breeze somehow carried the change. That the warmth returning to this place brought all the rules and laws with it. Reality flowing back where it belonged.

It took some moments for the agents to register that something happened. First they thought that, finally, their efforts would pay, but they soon realized... the breeze. With the whole place encircled by huge walls, actual wind should not be possible, and yet the warm air moved over the ice, the ground, the people standing around. Heads turned towards the origin of the breeze. Of course they always had had an eye on this bunny guy. They watched him meditate, mumbling and shouting something, and even drawing strange figures into the air. And now, he was standing there, arms spread wide, somehow bringing forth the wind that obviously made the ice thaw. This sure left its impression. People knew that something was off with that guy. After all, it wasn't so common that someone returned from the dead. But now, they actively witnessed him changing things they thought to be hopeless.

With a dull, slow creak, the giant ice arch started to give in. A moment longer it hold itself up, and then crashed to the ground. Spikes broke, jags crumbled, spires fell. Water seeped from the frozen mess, as if the ice remembered the three months of warmth and attempts to melt it by now finally turning into liquid.

Nobody really cheered. This whole situation was far too strange for anyone to actually grasp what was just happening. But the agents were trained, and so they put the wondering aside, got their tools out of way so the growing puddles won't harm them. After this, the workers started to gather the leftover parts of houses and shacks. There were at least six corpses in here. And maybe, after this all was done, that bunny would explain a thing or two about what on earth had been going on here.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**09.10.2020 – Resurrection** (Resurrection 11)

 

 

“I am no expert in topics like these.” said Dr. Piers “In fact, interpreting dreams and the like never really worked for me. I am afraid I am lacking the imagination necessary to read those messages from the subconscious. Maybe I will be able to find someone better suited for this.”

"You still think it is important, right?” asked Springtrap.

“Absolutely. Unfortunately, we do not know much about the hidden parts of the mind, but they do matter nonetheless. If I had to take a guess, I would dare to say that this... picture of yourself is not based on any lasting assumption about your involvement with these murders. Since, as you describe it, the blood came out of yourself, I think it is more like a pointer towards your health.”

“Hm. Maybe. Shattered and bleeding.”

“And a bunny.”

“I _like_ being a bunny. The robot part is just an annoying trifle. Well. Actually. I'd rather be a fluffy robot instead of a rotting corpse.”

The doctor smiled, but still let out a sigh.

“I guess this is your personal way to handle the fact that you died. Normally, I would file this under loss of reality, or even schizophrenia. Something that would require treatment. But in your case, I am still not sure where to draw the line.”

“Confusing people is my second favorite spare time filler. Is always great when I tell them about the undead part and sorcery, and people just stare at me like what the fuck. I mean, those poor workers from Wednesday made the mistake to ask questions. Had it coming.”

The doctor threw a quick look at his watch. Almost eleven.

“Alright, Mister Afton. Before we part I would like to give you a quick outlook for the next week. Sadly, Misses Jong is indispensable for at least two more weeks. Apparently she caught a mild sinus infection.”

“Unfortunate for her, but good for me. Those trauma sessions always burn me out like hell.”

“Understandable. If it is fine with you, we will proceed as we did this week, allowing you a little more spare time. I would like to keep things a little bit more structured, but since your... external duties may appear at any given time, it might be wise to maintain a modicum of flexibility.”

“Sounds fair. I mean, they're poking around in the dirt, hoping to find some tracks. But no news so far.”

“I sincerely hope this means that there is nothing to be found. But that is just wishful thinking on my part.”

“There will be more stuff. Fazaka was genius. I'd bet pennies on the dollar that they just wait for something- ugh. What the...”

Springtrap shuddered.

The light of his eyes changed from purple to white.

“Primary Remote Coordination Network online.” he said, his voice monotone and empty “Synchronizing.”

“Mister.. Mister Afton? Is... everything alright?”

“Warning. Download failed. Warning. Out of line parameters withing Central System. Analyzing. Error. Unknown data. Error. Unknown integrity. Error. Unknown program structure. Warning. Remote Access failed. Warning. Central System attempting Shell System overwrite. Warning. Shell System security protocol not available. Warning. What the actual fucking hell was THAT!?”

Springtrap hold his head. His eyes were back to purple again, but he definitely was shocked.

“Are you alright?” repeated the doctor, cautiously grabbing Springtrap's shoulders.

“I don't know. I just... something tried to take control over me. It still pesters me. From the outside. Like a phone call pressing me to pick it up. Holy hell what IS that.”

“Should I call someone here?”

“No... that won't... it's probably some specter shit. At least it feels like- oh shit Lance!”

He jerked up from the chair, and rushed out of the room, down the stairs.

Bursting into his cell, he found his fellow specter on the ground.

“Lance, mate, buddy, are you alright?!” Springtrap shouted, pulling the stag up from the ground.

“Kinda.” answered Lance, his eyes half closed “Ya had this too? What was that?”

“I have no idea.”

“Somthin' tried to fuck with my head.”

“Same for me.”

That second, doctor Piers came running into the cell, clearly worried.

“Is Mister Copper harmed?” he asked.

“Nah I'm good. Mostly.” answered Lance, who got back on his feet with help from Springtrap.

“Oh boy that was creepy. Hey doc, did I... say something while I was away?”

“Indeed you did.”

“Could you repeat it? Better write it down.”

After quickly noting what the doctor remembered, Springtrap tried to find a clue.

“Hmmm... Remote coordination? I heard that before.”

“Whatever it is, shit's still tryin' to get into my head.”

“Try to ignore it.”

“Easy for ya to say. I'm not used to this computer fuckery.” mumbled Lance back.

“I really think we should warn the Agency. I mean, if this is something... global... It'll spread to all specters. We two seem to be kind of immune to it, being a person and all, but if it is what I think... Not good.”

“Share your thoughts.” recommended the doctor.

“Well, see... I just remembered that Lance said something similar to this when we found him. Primary Remote Coordination Network. Doesn't take that much of a guess on what this could be. That it now seems to be 'online' means that whatever it originally was supposed to do now started. And whatever that whatever was, I bet it's horrible.”

 

 

“We're sifting through all available frequencies, but are so far unable to find a single hint of what might be going on.” said the technician.

He didn't seem to be really into it.

“Maybe they use something out of the ordinary?”

“Or maybe you just try to fool us.”

“Hey, that's mean.”

“Tch. Bad enough that High Command got tricked by some pranksters like you, but not everyone here is as dumb as them.” and the man turned his search off.

“Wha... hey, you think I got myself killed just to prank someone?!” blabbed Springtrap offended.

“Oh please. Remotely controlled androids are nothing special.” snarled the technician back “Whatever you guys try, I won't buy it.”

“Aha. Then, tell me, where is the signal that we use to 'remotely control' these robots, hm?”

Now, the agent dropped out of his hostile stance for once.

“What..”

“You just scanned for all available radio signals and found nothing special. So, tell me, how does this here robot work? I'd die to know this.”

Someone entered the room.

“Don't be so harsh, agent Bunny.” said the entering woman.

Springtrap threw a single glance at her.

“Oh, it's the new local boss.”

She seemed surprised.

“How do you..”

“Oh please. For some secret agency you guys are really easy to read. Perfectly scripted entrance, hands folded on your back... Piece of cake to get that you're in charge.”

“Or maybe you are just very observant.” she responded, putting her arms at her sides “I commend that you contacted us immediately, but I fear that we are unable to reproduce whatever you think to be the matter.”

Springtrap's eyes narrowed.

“Don't tell me you share this clod's stupid assumption?” and he pointed at the disgruntled technician at his side.

“We are, per order, forced to believe you.” was her answer, and it felt very much like a dodge.

Springtrap crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Seriously? After what I have... ugh, wait, you probably forgot this or start mixing it up. Hey, okay, it's fine that you doubt, don't buy everyone's shit at all. We'll get outta here, but first, could you guys please do something that silences this not-at-all-existent signal so that La- agent Stag here gets this voice out of his head?”

He pointed his thumb at Lance, who was just sitting in a corner, holding his head, rocking back and forth while silently mumbling to himself.

The new local commander noticed him for the first time. Her well trained neutral expression change a tiny little bit towards concern.

“Uh... excuse me?”

Springtrap sighed, walked over to Lance, sat down next to him to lay an arm around the other one's shoulders.

“We hear it both.” he explained “But I know a thing about technology and computers, so I am... somehow able to mute it. He, however, is constantly pestered by this signal trying to take him over.”

The commander looked at the technician.

“I'm not getting anything relevant out of the ether.” the man responded with a bored expression.

“Well... we do have some experimental communication jammer.” said the commander “Originally developed to cut Fazaka robots off their hive-mind, so it might work for you.”

“Worth a try.” answered Springtrap.

She nodded towards the technician, who, with a sigh, started to rummage through a box nearby, and finally produced a small device, not bigger than an earplug.

Springtrap took it and some tools, and quickly installed the jammer in Lance's left ear, connecting it to some wires.

It seemed to work.

Lance finally relaxed, and let out a deep sigh. Rubbing his temples, he looked up and around.

“Uh, when did we get here?” he wondered.

“You don't remember?”

“Probably lost focus after overwrite attempt six million somethin' thousand.”

“Good that it's over now. We better go home. People here are not really willing to believe us.”

Lance glanced over at the other two agents.

“Ya kiddin' me? I lost my kids. My life. All. And ya think it's just a show?”

Before either could say something in return, the building-wide communication system transmitted an urgent message.

“Orbital observation post twelve at Boston department: We register a massive electromagnetic anomaly in the north western part of the city. Our current readings match records from Rochester. Also- oh crap. We get another reading from Springfield. Kingston. Cooperstown. Heck the whole USA is lighting up what the hell is going on down there?!”

The transmission ended abruptly.

Just to be replaced by some other.

“High Command at all departments and agents in North America: Code seven. Gather immediately at your nearest Agency center and be ready for further instructions.”

Springtrap and Lance both looked at the local commander.

Who suddenly seemed very nervous.

“Stupid bitches. Both of ya” said Lance as he got up from the floor.

“Shit. I knew it. We're heading there right now.”

“Uh, we should wait for-” tried the commander to say, but Springtrap simply cut her off.

“For what? That the dead count reaches a thousand? This is no fucking joke or game I made up. I don't care if you guys doubt it, there are people who will die if we don't-”

“Hey Springles, isn't the northwest where ya family lives?”

Springtrap eyes widened.

“OH SHITFUCKING HELL! Gotta go. Move. Now! Get a car!”

And both of them rushed out of the laboratory.

“Hey, you can't just act on you own!” shouted the commander.

“I can and I will!” barked Springtrap back.

Just some minutes later he and Lance jumped into one of the Agency’s plain black vehicles.

“Ya know how to drive?”

“Let's hope I remember.” answered Springtrap, starting up the car.

After stalling the engine two times, he finally managed to get out of the underground garage of the Boston department.  
It was a cloudy afternoon. Gloomy, but no rain so far.

“Where we headin'?” asked Lance.

Just a second later, lighting glowed in the distance.

“There.” answered Springtrap.

“Fuck, it's a specter.”

“And that surprises you?”

“Thought the Agency said there weren't any.”

“Yeah but they did not exactly dig holes into the ground to find them. I bet there are hundreds.”

“H-hundreds?!”

“I told them. I told them all I knew. I explained how and what Fazaka did. How Freddy's handled their employees. How many people went missing. It's hundreds of customers, but several thousands of workers. People like me. If just a fraction of these got turned into specters, we still have an army of robots to fight.”

“That's bad.”

“Bad as fuck. It's my fault. Should've been more serious about this. Who knows how much of what I told em really reached High Command? I was busy with my broken mind. Too busy to think. Stupid me somehow thought that these guys could handle a disaster like this. But now look who's on the road. Not them.”

Lance pointed at someone on the sidewalk.

“Slow down Springles.”

“Why?”

“It's Kitty.”

“What?!”

Some moments later, Kitty was on the back seat, fastened her safety belt.

“I had only time to grab two riffles.” she said, her breath still heavy from running “Thought that you guys would come this way.”

“Ya knew we were at the Agency?”

“I'm your team leader.” she responded “Whenever something is up with you I am involved. That's one of the reasons I have implants.”

“So you heard it? Heard what they said?” pondered Springtrap.

“Yes I did. I would lie if I claimed that this was the first time. Actually, I had to defend you two on several occasions. High Command ordered that whatever you guys say has to be taken serious, but even this directive can only do so much. Plus, I really think our new local commander is an upstart. That girl never had a single drop of blood on her vest. She doesn't know what it means when lives are in danger.”

Another lightning flashed in the distance.

“Oh fucking hell...”

“Focus on the road, Springles.” said Lance in a surprisingly soft tone.

“I do my best.” responded the other, even if his face told that his thoughts were with his family.

“Are you even allowed to drive, agent Bunny?”

“Well, the picture on my license looks nothing like me, but court said I still have all my rights and blabla, so, I guess I am technically not doing something illegal here.”

“Fair enough.”

“But we kinda stole the car.” added Lance.

“Oh great, more paperwork for me... Anyway. I assume we are heading to the Afton home, right?”

“Yeah.” responded Springtrap “Basically because I know the way. I... I want to see if they are alright. I mean... they are...”

“It's okay Springles. I know.”

“I would do the same.” added Kitty “Even if this is a clear violation of the rules.”

“Fuck the rules.”

“In times like these, we are even allowed to do so. But we never may break the Oath.”

“Well, the Oath says I have to put human life in front of everything else. Am doing this right now. A single animatronic running around in a suburb is bad enough, but a freaking specter?!”

“Tell me more about the signal you hear.”

“Not much to say. It's a repeating message, trying to get into our heads. Even was able to take over each of us for some seconds, but seems to be incompatible to a prototype.”

“Thanks god.”

“It's not visible to normal technology.” continued Springtrap “So I guess... they.. they send it directly through the Rooms.”

“Is something like this even possible?”

“Should not.” said Lance “No stuff made by the livin' can enter the Fadin' Rooms. There's no laws there. Nothin' that should allow a radio signal to pass.”

“Except, of course, the source itself is part of the Rooms.” responded Springtrap.

“Ya think...?”

“Had my assumptions. Fazaka tends to get forgotten. Their tracks are extremely hard to find. I mean, it's just thirty years. Not a long time. But nobody seemed to be bothered enough, even by thousands of missing or killed people, to start a serious search. Not until I was brought out of my tomb. Imagine. If they hadn't found me... Nobody would know a single thing right now. This attack.. out of the blue. Robots from a long dead franchise popping up, seemingly controlled by an advanced artificial intelligence, but entirely based on strange and incomprehensible technology.”

“At least we know what is going on right now.” said Kitty.

“Not that this would help us that much. I am still the one and only weapon we have. Lance has no concept of how a computer thinks, so it'll be me. But I can't be at all these places at the same time. People... people will die.”

“Focus on the here and now.” ordered Kitty “That is a very important thing you need to learn. Both of you. It is not at all helpful to cling to the past, or worry about the future, as long as there are more urgent things to do.”

“But-”

“No buts allowed, agent. I perfectly well know that people will die. This, we cannot change. It's the total number of victims we can try to reduce. Don't think about those people who will be dead at the end of the day, focus on those who will survive thanks to your doing.”

Finally, the car arrived at the Afton home. It knocked over a couple of flower pots, but – beside Springtrap entering an one-way road from the wrong end – it had been a fine ride.  
He practically jumped up the stairs, but found the main door locked. Without hesitation, Springtrap shoved a finger into his own mouth, rummaged a little bit in there and... spat out a key.

“Nice hiding place.” commented Kitty.

The door unlocked, Springtrap rushed inside, shouting his brother's name.  
Vincent finally entered from from the garden.

“My gosh William, what on earth are you-”

“Oh boy you're alright and well!” said Springtrap relieved.

“Sure am, a little bit of thunder doesn't scare me. But tell me, what... oh.” and Vincent realized the other two people behind Springtrap.

“Where's Olivia? And Shu?”

“Both not here.” answered Vincent “Care to tell me what is going on?”

“Later.” responded his brother “You have a basement, right? Hide in there. Barricade the door, and stay away from electrical devices and cables.”

“Good god, William, wha-”

“There's a specter around here. Actually, just a bunch of them showed up all over the states. I came here fast as I could. We're going to uproot it before it can-”

A thunderous crack sounded. The digital clock at the wall turned dark.

“We should move.” said Kitty “That strike came from somewhere not that far away.”

“Right. Vincent, stay save. I- I get you out when we... no, no, someone will get you once I put this specter down. Try to make no noise. The robots have fine-tuned hearing. And thermal receptors.”

“Got it. But promise to stay save, too.” answered Vincent, and hugged his brother.

“I'm already dead.” was the answer.

“Still no need to die again.”

Some minutes later, the three agents were back on the road.  
Carefully driving through the quite suburb. So far, nobody seemed to be worried about the upcoming storm. Indeed, the weather was rather fitting for a quick thunderstorm. Little did the people know about the real reason behind the strikes. At least, these made it easy to localize the danger.  
The closer they got, the more cars came from the other direction. People who clearly looked worried. Some time later, they were clearly in panic. Some drivers waved at them to turn back. But nobody slowed down.

Then, the first body.

Springtrap stopped the car, the three of them got out, and carefully approached the corpse. A middle aged white man, shoot from behind. His expression was a mix of fear and pain.  
Kitty dared a look into the alley the man probably had left.

“A hole in the road.” was her comment at the sight “A house collapsed. Probably some sort of ramp into an underground vault. No animatronics.”

Just in this very moment, a door in the alley was flung open, and a couple of screaming people rushed into the open. Shoots. A women went down. The first Fazaka bot made it's appearance.

“We need cover.” stated Kitty, retreating from her scouting spot “Not an ideal location for combat. I don't like leaving the civilians in open fire, but its no use trying to save them and getting us killed in the process.”

“You're the only mortal here.” said Springtrap with a tense voice.

“Yes. But I am also the only one who can shoot.” responded Kitty, then she threw a quick glance at Lance “Or am I?”

“Uhm, well, if ya'd happen to have a bow...”

“A... a bow?”

“Don't look at me like that. When I learned my dad was a first American, teenager me thought I should learn how to use a bow. Kept it as a hobby all the time, so I should be able... well, we don't have any. So: Yeah, ya the only shoot here.”

“Noted. I'll get you something. Should I make it out of this alive. Now. What's your plan?”

“We gotta go into that hole.” responded Springtrap “Either there's machines building more bots, or a whole army of them waiting for their time to come out. Both would be easy to deal with for me.”

“Shouldn't we focus on getting to the specter instead?”

“And then what? I mean, if that'll turn me into a drunken bastard again, you guys would be on your own.”

“But the robots would be powerless...”

“Unless there's more than one. And this is what I need to know first.”

Kitty nodded.

“Good point. We'll make our way towards the entrance. Carefully. Try to go from cover to cover.”

“Understood.”

“Gotcha.”

And the three of them entered the alley. Most doors had been smashed, as well as some windows. There was blood, bullets, and five more corpses. But since this here was a better-off part of the city, most people here had a job and were probably at work right now. Good for them.

Out of the opening in the ground, a couple of robots marched.

The agents hurried to get behind a car on a plot. But they already had been spotted.

Bullets crashed through the car's windows.

“Guys...” said Springtrap “I just... figured that it'll may be a bad idea to use my lightning while a human is next to me.”

“You're kidding me.”

“The static would kill you.”

“Crap.”

“Okay, have an idea.” said Lance “But... but I forgot the word.”

“Word? What word?”

“Bros, help me out. A fancy name for a shield.”

“Shield?”

“Yeah or barrier. A fancy word. Somethin' clever people would say.”

“Bastion?” suggested Springtrap.

“We don't really have time for wordguessing right now!” snarled Kitty.

“Nah not bastion. Somethin' even more fancy. It was... sounded... Oh man how could I forget this one... Think of magic. What would a wizard scream to make a magical shield?”

“Oh. Oh. The game I play with my niece. Its... It... Aegis.”

“Yes! Right that one!” said Lance happily.

And then Springtrap and Kitty both watched in horror as the stag jumped out of cover, hold his hand out, and shouted this word.

“Aegis!”

Some sort of wall appeared. Transparent. Made of brightly orange glowing fog, or fine dust. Surprisingly, the projectiles shoot at Lance got stuck in this gleaming wall, and ultimately fell down to the ground.

“C'mon Springles, don't know how long this'll last.”

Springtrap needed a second to react, but he, too, got out of hiding, and charged up. Unlike the bullets, his electrical discharge passed the wall of light, struck the animatronics, and fried them all. Just some seconds later, Lance's sorcery faded away.

“Ho boy.” mumbled Springtrap “That was... what was this?”

“Aegis.” answered Lance, who did look a little bit exhausted “Some sort of shield. Can control what passes and what not. It's really fuckin' with my brain tho.”

“In that case, it should be our last resort.” commented Kitty “Let's move.”

Both men nodded, and they went on towards the hole, as careful as before.  
Cover was sparse, however. And the enemy had noticed them.

More animatronic characters appeared at the opening. Springtrap zaped at them before they could aim.

A robot bashed out of a house they already had passed.

With the grace of her namesake, Kitty turned around, and her riffle produced a lightning bolt. Striking and ending the blue bunny.

“Least we now have a prove that these things get the work done.” she commented.

Thunder.

Out of the entrance, a lightning came. It made its way past Springtrap and Lance. Ready to reach Kitty. But halfway, it just turned around, hitting Springtrap instead. All happened so fast that both Kitty and Lance were left in awe, while Springtrap shuddered.

“And prove that my personal training worked.”

“You trained what exactly?”

“Soaking up blasts. Don't ask. Stay behind.”

“Aye. Covering you.”

Another flash. Again, Springtrap caught it.

Dozens of robots were pouring out of the hole in the ground. Too many for Kitty or Springtrap to take out. Now, it was Lance's time to shine.

He jumped forwards, an shouted.

“Banefire!”

Right in his hand, a caustic green flame formed, and with a powerful move, Lance hurled the flaming orb at the robots.

The green flames hungrily ate away fur and metal alike, causing the circuits to fail and the robots to go down. Those who tumbled over their defeated comrades just got caught in the banefire as well.

Trying to be not too impressed, Springtrap and Kitty continued to shoot at the remaining robots.  
They retreated back underground.  
Even those who were hiding inside the buildings were ordered back into the hole, completely ignoring the three agents taking them out on their run.

“Seems the specter got our message.” said Kitty, wiping away some sweat from her forehead.

“We go in there.” responded Springtrap.

“All three? Not a good idea.” added Lance.

“What's on your mind?”

“Kitty, you should look for survivors. They probably would not react well to us two.”

“Additionally, I would not be of much use down there.” agreed Kitty “Alright. We split up. Stay safe.”

“Unless they threw acid at us, there's not much they can do.” responded Springtrap with a half-hearted smirk, but that quickly faded away “Better watch your own back.”

Kitty smiled.

“Oh, you know me. I'll be as quick and quite as a cat.”

 

Some minutes later, Lance and Springtrap made their way downwards the tunnel. It was more a tube than a proper hallway. Almost as if it just recently had made it up to the surface. Like a worm, spilling its dangerous content.  
Lance's orange wisplights were the sole source of illumination. It smelled like fresh soil, machine oil, and ozone.

“Bro, we're goin' to die.” mumbled Lance.

“Again?”

“Ya know what I- hey, ya did this shit before.”

“Twice.”

“See.”

“I am afraid of the dark. This is really hard for me as well.”

“Sorry. Am just nervous.”

“Me too. Let's just hope that this is the only entrance.”

“And if not?”

“Then we are hopefully dangerous enough for the specter to face us directly. I need to get close to it if I am to shut it down.”

“Noted.”

“I'd prefer if you could not throw this... fire stuff at me.”

“Banefire.”

“Yes, that.”

“It doesn't affect undead. Or the livin'.”

“Good to know. But I'm still a robot, so..”

“I'll be careful. Pinky swear. Least I get to try some stuff out here. Readin' about this is all good and fun, but actually castin' this shit... bro, ya have no idea. It feels...”

“Good?”

“Horrible! Nobody should have access to such power. First I thought that sorcery shit was cool, but the moment I actually... it's fuckin' terrifyin'.”

“Like my lightnings.”

“Probably.”

Springtrap reacted quickly.  
The second some white lights appeared in the distance, his blast cracked through the tunnel, taking the robots out.

“Whoah bro, ya so fast.”

“I remember what the stupid commander said earlier: I'm probably very observant.”

“How can ya keep ya cool?”

“Dunno. I just... well. I'm used to shut down my whole emotions and just function like a machine. That's probably the one thing I am really good at. Not being a human.”

“Ya also good at art.”

“Hah.”

“I mean it. And ya a great listener. Carin' for people around ya. I mean ya came runnin' for me the second ya knew that somethin' was off. That's... that's nice, bro.”

Springtrap sighed.

“You really talk about this? Here? Now?”

“I'm nervous as fuck.”

“Not much is going to happen. I mean, okay, the robots could technically rip you apart, but else? The strikes of the specter won't do anything to you. I'd dare to say that you and your sorcery are by far the most dangerous thing here.”

“Aww, thanks.”

“Now, try to focus.”

“Gotcha.”

The tube-like tunnel led further into the underground. It was impossible to guess how deep, or far, they walked, until they finally reached a more open area. A hall, containing immense hydraulic machines. Probably to move the tube through the ground. Springtrap made short work of whatever animatronics dared to step in their way. Even with being underground, surrounded by metal, his electricity didn't care for the laws of physics. In fact, he got rather adept at handling it, even being able to let it jump from one group of robots to the next.

However, this new location was far more complex than the simple tunnel. A web of hallways led to other parts, and from each entrance, new robots made their way to fight the intruders. Shu's brilliant work kept both of them from getting harmed, but still, investigating this place while constantly fighting was difficult.

While catching their imaginary breath in a silent corner, Springtrap and Lance tried to figure out a better way to get this done. Splitting up was not really an option, since Lance would not be able do much against a specter, and with his communicator blocked by the jammer device, he couldn't even call Springtrap to his side.

“Okay, got an idea. Maybe it's just a brainfart, but we could try anyway.”

“Shout it.”

“We could use the Veil to find him. He's a hole, we are holes. I... uh... I don't exactly know how to put it into words. The Veil is... thin around us.”

“And?”

“It's also thin around him. It should... look. I need ya to go into the Rooms and look at me. I will cast some sorcery. Ya should see... some... some sort of... Tugging. At the Veil. It should be easier to grab it where it is thinner. Ya get me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Maybe we just try it. Then ya will see.”

“Fine, if you think so... Just don't let me rot there for an eternity, hear me?”

And Springtrap stepped aside.

To the other side.

Lance's dimly lighted form was blurred by the silvery shroud of the Veil. His wisplights, however, were indeed a little bit... different. They appeared bright and clear, while the real world was veiled. Lance moved. Sluggishly. Somehow, Springtrap had found a way to quicken up his personal time in the Rooms, but the difference to the real world was still large. Luckily, it no longer was a second a day. Lance's whole arm suddenly was engulfed in orange fire. Its shine unaltered by the swirling mists. But nothing that would give away the location of the other specter.

Springtrap returned.

“I didn't see or feel anything.”

“Crap.”

“Uh, what IS that? It's not that Banefire-stuff, right?”

“Spitefire.”

“Cool. What?”

“Banefire is ouch for solid matter. Spitefire is ouch for everythin' that has a mind.”

“Noted. Why is it orange?”

“Cause that's my color.” said Lance, pointing at his wisplights “Yours would be purple. Most sorcery somehow follows this color rules. Some fires are the exception, if I remember right.”

Springtrap just pinched the root of his nose.

“Okay, quick question: How much of the Black Tome did you read so far?”

“Somewhat around four hundred pages.”

“ _Dude_. Oh great. I sound like my niece.”

“Maybe we could try it the other way around. I'm goin' to the Rooms and ya-”

“Try some sorcery? You do remember that I am unable to do this, right?”

Lance sighed.

“Doesn't need to be somethin' fancy.”

“Your fancy is not my fancy.”

“Okay okay. Guess we just go on pokin' around.”

“While people die in other places.”

“Nothin' we can do about that right now.”

“That's cruel.”

“I call it realistic. Oh bro...”

Again, Lance sighed. He turned around, grabbing Springtrap's wrists.

“Springles. William. Hear me out. Just because ya did somethin' bad doesn't mean that ya have to be the mom of the whole world. There's other people. Politicians who are responsible for safety. The Agency. Military. It's not ya fault that those are not prepared for somethin' like this. I know that ya try to... to...”

“Redemption.”

“Yes. That. Ya want redemption. I understand. I think ya should do this. After all, ya _did_ somethin' bad. But don't believe that suddenly all of the world lies in ya hands. Leave some for other people to care for. We do what we can. Other people do what they can. Kitty is up there lookin' for survivors. Ya think that she is a bad person for not bein' down here with us?”

“No...”

“See. And now c'mone. We've got a date with that specter dude.”

They went on like before.  
Aimlessly walking through halls and tunnels, taking out all robots they encountered.

Probably half an hour went by.

And they finally faced serious resistance.

Lance's Aegis sorcery was definitely necessary. A whole room, filled to the bring with Fazaka robots. Chicas throwing their cupcake-shaped grenades, Foxies trying to close the distance and engage in melee combat, while Freddy and Bonnie and several other, unreleased animal characters constantly firing their build-in riffles. In the end, the room was filled with smoldering remains of robots. Lance had to burn a way through using his banefire.

It turned out that this was the last line of defense. An attempt to block the intruders off simply by piling up solid metal. It did slow them down, because the banefire didn't burn that long, and had to be recast often, which in turn did exhaust Lance to the point that they had to wait some minutes so he could recover a little.

The last couple of meters were paved by simply shoving the ruined bots away by raw force. Ordinary fires had started somewhere in the room. The rising smoke carried the unpleasant smell of burnt plastic.

“Better get this done quickly.” said Lance, still somewhat tired from his sorcery.

“Yep. I don't want to be in here when all this is ablaze.”

The tunnel behind that last hall was different from the rest. The smooth steel was adorned with randomly placed bands of glowing, blue metal. Somehow, its eery shine suppressed Lance's wisplights.

“Wow. So this is the blue metal crap?” said Lance, his fingertips gliding over the tiny carvings covering the unearthly material “Almost feels like... writing.”

“Or a map.”

“Yeah. A three dimensional map. This shit is the key, right?”

“At least that's what everyone thinks. Given the fact that you'll find it everywhere. This here is the main computer of the whole hive-mind. I had a couple of robots under my control, it was... rather unpleasant. And exhausting. Hard to imagine that a single mind could handle hundreds of robots.”

“So the processing is done... within this here stuff?”

“Think so.”

“... can we destroy it?”

“Try your sorcery. Everything else seems to do nothing.”

Lance nodded. Calling forth a small banefire, and pressing his burning hand against the wall. The blue glowing metal simply absorbed the flames. Not even the steel seemed to be affected.

“So much about that.”

“Not really a surprise.” responded Springtrap “The Agency played around with the metal they found within me, and later all the stuff from Rochester, but so far couldn't even scratch it.”

“But sorcery usually doesn't care...”

“This stuff itself is sorcery. Maybe my... my reset skill could do something, but I certainly am not in the mood to try this right now. Not when I'm all about eating a specter.”

Lance moved away from the wall, and looked at Springtrap, a little bit worried, but also rather resolute.

“Okay. Ya did this before. What's my part?”

“I need to get close to the specter. Last time, it tried to remove my battery. Since that busted my spine, I'd rather like it the other way around this time.”

“Got it. I try to pin him down so ya can crack him open.”

“That's the plan.”

“Anythin' else?”

“I uhm... well, you probably need to carry me out afterward.”

“... okay?”

“I'll be probably not really able to walk. And try to ignore whatever I say, this'll be a hellish trip for me. Last time I tried to marry the bed I was lying on. Even a second time after I forgave her cheating on me with that toolbox.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as can be.”

“Good. Let's bust him.”

They walked around the final corner, entered the center of the hive.  
Odd angles. Metal dents and bulges all over the place. Pillar-like structures, broad or flat, roundish, or thin as a needle.  
And all covered with a web of glowing carvings.

“Bro that's creepy.”

“It turns into a simple and ordinary room once the specter is destroyed.”

“Kiddin' me?”

“Nope. I-”

A blast. Springtrap caught it without even thinking about it.

Just like in Rochester, the enemy specter was alone in his chamber. But this time, it had no fresh corpse inside. Weakly lighted by the blue metal, it appeared to be a Golden Freddy. The fur tattered and moldy, exposed metal clearly rusty. The body inside long dried up and mummified. It still had a faint stench of rot, but nothing compared to the specter of Rochester. However, something on this particular Freddy felt oddly familiar to Springtrap. It was the way it moved perhaps. Not really like other animatronics made by Fazaka. Smooth. The facial features seemed more accurate and better capable of expressing emotions.

That of course, didn't change the fact that the empty, white glow of its eyes clearly identified it as a soulless mark two specter.

It tried a second thunderbolt. Again, it hit Springtrap, without bothering him a single bit.

“Okay. We try to get to it from two sides. Try to grab it from behind. But watch out, they are stronger than they look.”

“Gotcha.” answered Lance, and carefully moved sidewards.

The Golden Freddy observed him, but soon had to focus its attention to Springtrap, who zapped his own bolts at the enemy.  
Of course they did no harm, but kept the enemy busy enough for Lance to launch his ambush from behind.

With all his might and weight tried Lance to force that bear robot to the ground.

He failed.

With almost human-like dexterity, the specter freed itself from Lance's grip by dropping down to its knees, knocking Lance of his feet. That clearly required mobility that usually wasn't part of a ordinary Fazaka robot.

Finally it hit Springtrap.

“Oh... oh my god.” he mumbled, ignoring the bolt the enemy fired at him “That can't be...”

“Springles... a little help here?!” shouted Lance, but he quickly saw that Springtrap wasn't really paying attention to him, staring at the rotten bear with utterly shock written in his features.

Lance backed off.

While the specter didn't try to get to him, it kept its guard up all the time.

“Springles, what the hell?!” and Lance knocked at Springtrap's head “Anyone home in there?”

It took the other some seconds to react. Looking at Lance, without dropping out of his fright.

“That is my Freddy.” said Springtrap.

“What?”

“Mine. I... I used this... it is the costume I wore when I worked at Freddy's. I tinkered with it to perform better. I... it was my suit.”

And Springtrap looked back at the Golden Freddy.

“Bro, that's not really the time for sentimental shit.”

“But maybe he's remembering me.” mumbled Springtrap “I... I knew this guy. It was... Nick. Nick Walters. In his forties, almost bald, little chubby. Not that much of a talker, and not really good with the kids, but he had to fill in when the main entertainers like me weren't on shift.”

“Springles...”

“No, you don't understand.” responded Springtrap “That was MY suit. I was supposed to die in there. I was supposed to be here, leading this operation. Me. Not him. He was a someone. He had a life. He had two daughters, and a wife. Sick parents he had to watch after. He always smelled a little bit like old people, cause he lived with his parents. He... I knew him. Lance, I knew this guy. This was my suit. The dead trap meant to kill me. I... I used this very suit to sing and dance and goof around for kids. I tricked them to follow me backstage. This is MY suit.”

“All that is interestin' and all, but he just shoot the twentieth lightnin' at us and I definitely don't want to be in here when the shit in the other room starts to burn so maybe just finish what we're here for and have ya little crisis back home when the doc can handle it.”

Springtrap looked at him.  
Purple glowing eyes wide open.  
Lance knew this face. Silent tears. Not quite weeping, not yet, but a simple emotional overload that led to crying. Hard to imagine that this person here _actually_ helped a serial killer to get her victims.

Lance sighed.

“Didn't sign up for this. Okay Springles, ya hear me? I... I'll throw ya. Hear me? I pick ya up and simply throw ya at him. That should confuse him enough. Let's hope that the two of us can keep him down long enough. Ready?”

Springtrap just nodded.

And so Lance lifted him up, and launched the golden bunny at the golden bear. With clanking and rumbling, the two robots clashed, the enemy specter easily went down. Lance hurried to them, trying his best to pin the bear to the ground.

Despite the cascade of memories and feelings crashing from one side of his mind to the other, Springtrap somehow was able to focus enough to get the task done.

While the Freddy struggled to get free again, Springtrap forced his hands into the corpse. It was strange. The way his hands moved was so familiar. Done a hundred times. Whenever he had made the springlock suit ready to be used as a costume, he did this very same thing. Removing the batteries.

He found the spark.

And closed his fingers around it.

Two minds, merging.

One calm and rational. Thinking in numbers. Comparing sensor input to programmed command structures.

One wild and upset. Riddled by guilt. Hurt. Bleeding. Begging for forgiveness.

Upload.

Enforced Upload of Central System into connected integrity.

Attempt failed. State reason.

Connected integrity matches human integrity. Human integrity superior.

Analyzing. Accepted. Insert password.

SMILE!!!

Password accepted. Executing command.

Merge in progress. Uploading Central System. Upl- o a d i n g

 

 

“We are so far unable to give you detailed information.” said Kitty in a calm tone “This incident is indeed connected to the happenings in Rochester. As well as to all the other events that currently take place in the whole nation.”

“What is the connection between you and this whole mess?” blurted another journalist.

“The Global Agency for Security and Exposure attempted to keep the case Fazaka controllable, but unfortunately we failed to do so.”

“Why that?”

“The case turned out to be far more dire and complex than we originally thought. Also, we got little to no help from local and national authorities. I might cite General Collin McBander: it's not the job of the U.S. military to play around with toy robots.”

“Are you aware how many people died here?” blabbed a particularly bothersome woman.

“Our numbers are twenty nine.” responded Kitty “But that is only the first counting. As far as we know, other places are far worse.”

“How did you handle this?”

“We happen to have a specialist here in Boston who is able to safely turn down the central processing units of these robotic armies. Unfortunately, he is the only one able to do so.”

“Are you talking about Mister William Afton, the possessed bunny robot?”

“I am not allowed to share personal information with the press.”

“Where is he now?”

“We are waiting for our specialist and the agent that accompanied them to return from the underground vault. As for now, the area is still not accessible to the public, please understand that even with the majority of the Fazaka animatronics turned powerless, it is still possible that some remain active and therefor a major threat.”

Some other agent came through the hastily erected covers that blocked the alley, and made some gestures to Kitty.  
She nodded, and turned once more towards the mass of microphones and cameras.

“For any further information, please contact the local Agency headquarter. If you might excuse me, I have work to do.” and she hurried to get back behind the covers, trying to ignore the booing and shouted questions of the press.

That was probably the thing she hated the most about her work. Handling the press trying to turn the death of innocent civilians into a story to sell. But was there somebody willing to read it? Other departments started to send first reports. While larger cities with a firm presence of both law enforcement and military units were somewhat better off, there were rural towns and villages that simply had been swept off the map. In a matter of two hours. The death count was staggering. Especially poor people. Where the wealthier ones could use their cars to flee the immediate area, running away from an army of armed robots wasn't quite as effective. And a poorly made wall of thin wood was not really able to withstand a couple of machines trying to break in.

Salvage crews were taking the robots apart. Even with the whole specter business still a mystery, the robots themselves had nothing to tell the Agency. Each of them would get their tiny spark of element S13 removed, and then salvaged.

Kitty's view wandered over the people bagging in the corpses. She hated how insignificant she was. But then again, Kitty knew far too well that this was just her way to protect herself. It would only bring more harm if she allowed herself to be distracted by things she had no power over.  
Nothing could bring back life that was lost. Always focus on the life that still could be saved.  
At least that was the guideline she always tried to stick to. The revelation that something existed after death was not exactly helpful.

Secretly, Kitty wondered how much longer she could go on like this.

A glance of golden fur was all it needed to wipe away these thoughts.

Kitty started to run towards the huge opening in the road as Lance and Springtrap made their way to the surface. Or more like, Lance carried the other.

They didn't look that ruffled. Although, Springtrap's head bobbed a little bit awkwardly from one side to the other.

“It's good to see you in one piece.” said Kitty.

Lance looked up and smirked.

“Better hold that sweet talk down, ma'am, I'm a married man.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, on second thought, he also married a roach, three blue bunny robots, and a loose bolt. Maybe I'm just part of a harem. Should I be pissed 'bout that?”

Kitty blinked two times, then she remembered.

“He's high again, right?”

“Yeah. Still weights a fuckin' ton, so better get me somethin' I can drop him on.”

Once the half-asleep Springtrap had been safely placed on a cot – which he promptly declared to be his new husband – Lance reported.

“No production plants, but a large number of robots.” resumed Kitty.

“Right.”

“Hm. Any clue where the robots came from?”

“Since we didn't find any other entrance... I'd guess they stuffed this place full of bots and sealed it off.”

“Odd. We... we don't have any records of underground works done in this area. How could they secretly build a whole fortress under a city. Do we at least know any date?”

Lance glanced back at Springtrap.

“Well... Okay... how to put this... The specter here... it was special. For Springles. It was... his former suit.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And the dude inside used to be a coworker. If I got his drunk jabberin' right, this dude got killed in '85. By a suit that Springles usually used. He... he didn't take this very well. So once he sobbers up I guess that'll be quite somethin' to work out.”

Kitty nodded.

“Bad timing for something like this.” she sighed “Oh who am I kidding. He will probably need two or three days to recover. Plus an unknown amount of time to get over the... more personal issues. Time is unfortunately nothing we have spare. Our resources are already spreed thin, and the military is not particularly good at handling a crisis like this. They managed to lock some vaults in major cities, but many small towns got annihilated by the robots, who are now free to roam. And if Fazaka really tried to create some sort of self-replicating robot hive, they could spread like an infection. And all we have is one man able to destroy one specter at a time.”

Lance stared at the ground.

“I'm sorry.” he said, barely audible “If I knew what I have to do... but this whole techy shit simply goes over my head.”

“Even if you were able to do the same as agent Bunny, that would not change the fact that we are hopelessly outnumbered and outsmarted. This is war. A war fought at far too many frontiers. So far we registered one hundred sixty three active hives. Each one contains at least one specter. And only god knows how many hives are still hidden beneath the surface, waiting for their turn. There's no way to win this war. The only thing we can try is to keep the number of collateral damage as low as possible.”

“Why are ya guys so... so calm about this?”

Kitty crossed her arms, and let her view wander over the makeshift camp. Indeed, it was calm. People did their work. Salvaging, analyzing, removing tracks and suspicious information not meant for the public. Almost like this was a routine mission.

“That is a good question.” she finally answered “Probably... many have yet to realize that our worst imaginable scenario just became reality. An enemy we knew nothing about just a year ago suddenly is able to overwhelm us in every single aspect. Our agents are picked and trained in regards of handling a crisis, but this here... certainly is a couple of numbers bigger than most of us can grasp. We are trained to do our work, and leave the worrying for later. We are at war, agent. A war that started itself because a long dead threat decided to come back to life.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**12.10.2020 – Last Rites** (Resurrection 12)

 

 

“Anything new?” asked Kitty as she entered the supervising room.

“Much information. Zero understanding.” responded the man sitting at the desk there.

He didn't look up, his view almost glued to the window, and he seemed to be ready to write down any interesting things that might happen. Even after five hours. His persistence impressed Kitty.

“You should at least get a cup of coffee.” she said.

“And risk to miss something?!”

“Well, I'm going in there to talk to him, so he won't do anything the next minutes.”

The other agent just nodded, and jumped up from his chair to rush out of the room.  
Kitty smiled, slightly shaking her head, while taking a quick glance at the notes of her colleague. Protocols, meticulously describing every single movement and effect.  
She left the desk behind, and opened the door that connected the small, secured room to the shooting range.

Lance looked at her for a couple of seconds, and this loss of focus was enough to make the glowing barrier in front of him disappear.

“Fuck.” he grunted.

“Sorry. But I thought you might need a little break.”

“Maybe.”

“You're in here for five hours now. It's not really healthy to put yourself under so much pressure.”

“Yeah, I should slow down, or else I'll get a heart attack.” responded Lance with a hint of sass.

“You know what I mean.”

He sighed, and sat down at the floor.

“I do. It's just... I'm not happy 'bout the command to stay put. There's kids out there, losin' their parents. Fams who's lives get destroyed. We already can't do much, but now we're even not allowed to cuz' some stinkin' bastard thinks that this all is a fuckin' game to weaken the US.”

“Nobody is happy about president Davis' unwise decision.” answered Kitty, sitting down next to him “But as long as the Council does not revoke his decree, we are legally bound to follow it.”

“And people die.”

“Yes, and people die.”

“That's bollocks.”

“Couldn't agree more. Now. Anything you managed to achieve?”

Lance grabbed the small notepad he simply had tugged into his antlers, and flipped some pages.

“Bits here and there. I still can't keep up this fuckin' wall longer than ten seconds. That's not enough.”

“You are not used to combat, ten seconds is quite a long time.”

“That's the maximum I had so far. Sometimes it's just two. If I could say at least that it'll last a guaranteed time... but no. Totally random. And don't try to say somethin' nice and sweet, this shit will save lives, I simply have to make it work. Just don't know how. Beside that, not much. This teleken-ya-know-what doesn't do what it should. I can keep somethin' up, but can't move it. And it'll drop sooner or later. Fire is still my best. Blazin' shit down is easy. Haven't figured out yet how to make the banefire last longer. It's still enough to burn away some inches of steel before I have to recast it. Problem is the distance. I have to throw it, and since it has no weight... more thinkin' to be done.”

“You are turning this into science.” commented Kitty, to which Lance nodded.

“Never been the book type before.” he said “In fact, readin' is hard for me, since my eyes are no good. Springles has this huge advantage that he understands tech. And he's so used to his body... my... the cams of the suit here just work like my eyes used to do. With all their flaws. That's probably the reason my handwritin' is so bad. Springles makes fun of it all the time. However. Since I got the Black Tome, I... I feel smarter. I even use words I never knew before. Maybe I drop out of this fuckin' slang as well.”

“Why are you so eager to become a different person?” asked Kitty, and she sounded genuinely concerned.

“Weeeeell, see, bein' me got me killed. And that wasn't really nice and all, since my kids got killed, too. I'm not really up for 'nother round, so, I have to change a thing or three.” he paused a second “Crap. That's what Springles always says. 'A thing or three'.”

Kitty grinned.

“You'll be lost the first time you say 'izzatafactnow'.”

Lance smiled back at her, and jammed his notepad back into his antlers.

“Heh... I know it sounds stupid now, but Springles is special to me. When ya grow up in the slums, trust is somethin' ya don't have.”

“Since the larger portion of my life happened in shanty town, I know this pretty well. Either you're part of a gang, or you are on your own.” answered Kitty.

Lance gave her a curious glance from the side, before he continued.

“In that case, probably don't have to explain that ya grow a shell to keep safe. Most folks have at least some people to talk to. Parents maybe. Siblin's. A spouse. I had nothin' of this. So my shell was tough as fuck. Can't go on like this, that much I learned. Losin' my job was the first crack. More came. Kay, I managed to find a bro who cared for me, but... but yeah. Ended up a prisoner. Slave for ghosts. When I died, there wasn't much left of me, and then came the Rooms. Spend years in there. Decades even. Watchin' other peoples' lives while not havin' my own place. It... it was Springles who called me back. His voice. Or maybe his thoughts? I know it's this specter shit with bein' a hive-mind and all, but for once, I have someone to trust. To rely on. That's... that's new for me. I like it. I wonder how on earth I managed to live without this. He said I should allow more people into my mind, and I'm probably doin' this right now. Mainly cause ya won't talk to anyone.”

“I file this under team building.” answered Kitty with a reassuring smile “What else to do while we wait for politics to react on a war?”

“Yeah... Team is a nice word as long as ya part of it. Even more important that I absolutely need to get this stupid Aegis workin'.”

He got up from the ground.  
And with a firm handstroke, cast the orange wall in front of him.  
Just an instant later, it frayed again.

“Oh c'mon now. A second? Really?!”

“Maybe it'll last longer when something actually is hitting it?” suggested Kitty “I mean, perhaps it somehow knows that it's not necessary right now?”

“Could be.” responded Lance “But it's my fuckin' sorcery. And it WILL last as long as I WANT.”

And he called forth a new barrier. Using both hands now, fingers cramped, almost like he tried to hold the wall up physically.

“Stay. Up. Bitch.” he growled.

The Aegis shuddered. And started to break down at the rim.

“Oh no you don't!”

Lance's arms yanked up and outwards, with all his might he tried to force the wall to last longer.  
It didn't.  
With a crackle, the shield shattered, its glowing fragments fading away quickly.  
Lance snorted in frustration, looking down at his own hands.

“Kay. One last time. Listen to me, stupid bitchin' sorcery crapshit. Ya will do as I tell ya. I want a fuckin' wall that keeps people behind it SAFE. And I need it to be more than just a weak fart of light! Up!”

Again, the wall appeared.  
Again, Lance tried his best to force it to stay.  
And again, it didn't want to comply.

“Bitchfuckin' hell crap. Okay! Then we try this!”

And he just recast it.  
One Aegis, replacing the last one.  
Lance was furious, bringing up one wall after the other. His moves grew more and more aggressive, frustrated.

Finally he punched the air in front of him.

The Aegis shuddered.

And broke asunder, an eruption of orange light shards, flooding forward like a ghostly torrent.  
Forcefully hitting the far wall of the shooting range.  
Fragments of concrete broke out of the wall, and a dusty backlash made its way to Lance and Kitty.

Both were in awe.

Lance simply plucked his notes from his antlers, and wrote something down.

“Not what I wanted, but still rad.”

“Holy crap.” mumbled Kitty “You damaged a solid _wall_.”

“Yeah, I already thought about movin' this outside. Don't wanna turn the buildin' to rubble.”

“Erm. Excuse me? Sorry? Hello?”

Kitty and Lance turned around, to see a young agent at the entrance, his face a mix of fear and disbelief.

“Oh great, a trainee. This is a special session.” said Kitty “You better have a good reason to bust into here.”

“I-I'm really sorry, ma'am! I just- got just the order to deliver a- I certainly didn't mean to interrupt... whatever this was.” and the youngster lifted a rather large package up.  
He tried to do, at least, since it seemed to be rather heavy.

Kitty remembered.

“Ah, right. I got you a weapon grade bow.”

“Oh really? That's great!” said Lance, who quickly went over to the trainee and grabbed the delivery.  
Without trouble, which obviously worsened the man's insecurity.  
However, Lance paid more attention to the package. Quite happy to have something else to focus on than his sorcery, he quickly unwrapped the steel casket.  
Inside was a rather technical looking construct.

“Man, that's easily a hundred thousand bucks.” commented Lance impressed.

“It looks like a torture device.”

“Yeah, modern bows don't have much in common with the stuff people had ages ago. They use hoists to get enough power. Can't say I had such a fancy compound piece in my own hands, but a boy can dream, right?”

It took Lance only some moments to figure out how to ready the bow. He eagerly put an arrow on the string, aimed, and shoot.  
With a low thud, the arrow hit the target at the wall, almost perfectly in the center.

“I thought you need glasses?” mused Kitty.

“I'm farsighted. And seems I still have a good aim.” answered Lance, drawing the string again.

“Without any doubt, yes. I never thought about a bow as a weapon.”

“Well, ya won't kill someone with a single shoot. Most likely. Can of course aim for vital organs, but unless ya a master shoot, that won't work. It's more the force that makes an arrow dangerous. And the pain. I doubt that I'll could bring a robot down with these tho. Unless... well... unless...”

“Unless what?”

Lance seemed to contemplate something. His view wandered towards the Black Tome, and back to the arrow in his hand.

“Weeeell. I maybe just got an idea. Let's try.”

He closed a fist around the arrow's tip. Then, he quickly put the arrow on the string, and shoot it. The projectile left a faint green trail of banefire behind, and when it hit the target, the caustic flames erupted, engulfing the whole arrow, and quickly eating away the target as well, leaving not even ashes behind.

Lance seemed overly pleased.

“One main problem solved.”

Kitty simply nodded.

“But won't this destroy the arrow?”

“Sure. But as long as I don't miss, each shoot is a robot down. I'd say that's a fair bargain.”

“Absolutely.” agreed Kitty.

“Erm... uh excuse me? P-please? I... I still need you to sign the receipt.” stuttered the Agency trainee.

 

 

“At least _some_ intelligent people in this Council.” said Shu sassy.

“I didn't doubt that they would revoke Davis' decree.” responded her mother “Not even the majority of his followers believe his airy idea that GASE started this war to force him into participating in Project Gaia.”

“He knows how to twist words, that much I give him.” added Vincent, who stood behind the couch wiping a plate dry.

“Sure. Uncle William's sudden appearance – all just a move of the Agency to set an actual manslaughter into motion. That's not 'twisting words', that's outright insanity.”

“So far, it's mostly poor people that got killed by Fazaka's armies. Davis never cared for the lower class.”

“And he never will. It's not people he's concerned about. He's obsessed with terms. Words. Things like 'pride' or 'honor' are all he cares for. That there are people who die just right now couldn't possibly bother him less.”

“Shu...”

“No dad, I am upset. If I knew how to use a gun I'd-”

“You will not, young lady.” demanded Olivia in an untypical sharp tone “It is bad enough that Oliver got drafted, I certainly don't wish more of my children to do the military's work.”

“You will see. Now that the peacemakers are free to move in and help out, things will turn. And GASE can also act again. William already put down the specter here in Boston, he will do the same with all the others. It's more like that the troops hold the line while he solves the problem.”

“We still have half a million dead people.” snarled Shu back “And then what? The Council will move out again and shit just goes on as usual. We can't go on like this. Most people in this stupid country only survive because Council gives them money.”

“Yes, but they do survive. And this decision definitely was bad enough so that Davis will not be reelected.” reminded Olivia.

Before Shu could say something back, the television program abruptly changed.

“The White House just announced that President Davis takes a stance on the newest decision of the Global Council to revoke his decree that prohibits both the peacemakers and GASE from interfering with the ongoing fight. We will switch directly to the official transmission of his speech.”

Again, the picture changed.

Since this seemed to be an emergency press gathering, the rows were almost devoid of journalists. President Davis stood there, behind his podium, and the sweat on his reddened face made it clear that the most hateful part of his speech was already over. He was an angry man. During the two years of his time in office, he had lost most people's support. His rhetoric of national pride maybe had been a good fuel for his campaign, but he had so far been unable to build anything on this foundation.

“We will not take this!” he almost screamed into the microphones “We are a strong, proud nation! We can stand on our own two feet, without anyone's help! It's AmeriCAN, not Americannot. No foreign institution has the right to dictate me how I have to rule my land! I am the President of the United States, and I say that we will endure this little crisis all on our own! And if that means we have to leave the Council, that foolish gathering of cowards and softies, than fine, we will leave! Before the end of the day, the USA will cut their connection to the Global Council. We will expel every and all spies, saboteurs and infiltrators. We will not take a single coin from an organization that tries to buy our obedience. We are a strong people. The strongest nation on earth. We will not-”

The rest of his speech got cut by noise from backstage.

A single woman in tattered apparel rushed on the stage.

“For the people!” she shouted.

And pulled the trigger of her gun.

 


End file.
